If I See One More Apocalypse...
by Michelle Solo
Summary: **Chapter 14 now up!** What do you get when you mix Disneyland, yet another Xander head injury, the Scooby Gang and Angel Investigations? One big Apocalyptic mess. The wackiness just keeps ensuing. . .
1. The Chicken Wing Fiasco

Summary: It's the end of the world, yet again (don't Apocalypses just seem to follow these guys?). It's a Buffy/Angel crossover extravaganza with all characters and some we haven't seen in a while.

Author's Note: Story takes place sometime slightly after season six Buffy and season three Angel.

Spoilers: None really, other than the fact that Connor's alive which could be possibly taken as a spoiler.

Disclaimer: You know, I wish I had created these characters and could take some credit for it... but I'm not. You all know that they actually belong to and created by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN and all those other rich companies that have something to do with the show that I just can't remember.

__

The Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California

Oh, another day at Angel Investigations. Instead of being out there in the city, helping the helpless, they lounge about the hotel lobby, eating Kentucky Fried Chicken.

"Hey! Who ate the last chicken wing?" Gunn cried out. As he frantically searched all the boxes on the counter, he went on to say, "I had dibs on that!" A faint whistling sound could be heard coming from the general direction of Lorne.

Once every set of eyes in the room was on the chartreuse demon leaning on the elevator doors, the Pylean went on the defensive.

"Wha- Y-you th-think I would have committed such a heinous crime as to eat Charles Gunn's wing? It-it was. . . was. . ." When the staring begin to feel like the burning of an interrogation lamp, Lorne went over his mental list of scapegoats and finally decided on-

"-Angel." 

"Angel?!" The whole room repeated.

It was then that the vampire looked up from his newspaper, completely oblivious to the whole conversation that had been going on about the chicken. "What?"

"Man, Angel wouldn't eat my stuff," Gunn snapped back. "He's a vamp."

"And besides," added Cordelia, "vampires don't eat Kentucky Fried Chicken. This vampire only eats jelly-filled donuts and coffee with blood."

Wesley looked down at his coffee mug in a horrified slow-motion double take. Without saying anything (or, if one listened hard enough, they could faintly hear him choke out: _blood?_) he slowly turned around and headed to the nearest bathroom, still clutching the tainted coffee. 

At this point, Gunn was cracking his knuckles and looming menacingly towards the cowering demon in the corner. "I never realized how much black 'n blue go with green these days." Lorne was trapped between the counter and a very angry Gunn and knew that there was no way out. "They say it's the new fall color."

Just as Lorne squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for a new horn-ripping, a voice, small, female, and Texan, came from the stairs over by the front door of the Hyperion Hotel.

"Well, paint the barn a new shade of red, Gunn, if chicken wings mean that much to ya, y'all can have the lasta mine." Suddenly, as if she was a manifesting apparition, Fred appeared from behind the staircase railing holding a plate of barely-picked at food in one hand and a pretty beat-up copy of "Paradise Lost" in the other. "I wasn't that hungry anyway."

Gunn looked from the girl, to Lorne (who had his hands over his horns in a protective gesture), back to the girl again and smiled. 

"Nah. That's okay, Fred," Gunn replied to the offer while rolling his sleeves back down over his arms. "I just love seeing the look on Green Boy's face." And, with that, he left Lorne cradling his head and shivering and went to sit on the couch, picking up another part of Angel's newspaper.

When the demon realized there was no danger to him or his horns he uncovered his face, looked around the room, dusted off his orange lounge singer suit and casually announced that he needed a Seabreeze. He then walked off to his hotel room saying nothing more than "take a chill pill."

After a few moments of silence left by Lorne's departure, Cordelia broke it with a rather poignant comment. "Anybody seen Wesley?"

The room remained dead silent. Off in the distance, the phone broke the uncomfortable pause.

"I'll get it!" Cordelia announced in a sing-song voice. But by the time she got three feet near the phone, Wesley had already entered and answered. 

"Angel Investigations. Your problems are our problems." Wesley recited the company motto and went silent as he listened to the caller. 

"Angel." Wesley gravely called out. "It's for you."

Angel set down his newspaper and walked in Wesley's direction, half wanting to know, half wanting to take the phone and hang it up and never know. He took the phone from Wesley and pressed the receiver to his unwilling ear. 

"Angel speaking." Angel said in a shaky voice he tried, unsuccessfully, to disguise. The caller didn't have to speak a word past "Hello." He knew who that was. Angel would know that voice from anywhere at anytime.

Buffy.


	2. Insomnia Tales

__

Summers Residence, Sunnydale, California

Death. Insufferable pain. Blood flowing from man like rivers of molten hellfire. All around there was a fire, an unbearable heat that consumed everything in a destructive hurricane. Mankind completely obliterated without a second thought. Blackness. Nothing.

City of Angels.

Buffy jolted awake with sweat pouring from her forehead, gasping for air. What the hell had that all been about?

Buffy glanced at the clock on her bedside table. 12:17 a.m. Damn. It was still way too early for her to wake up. She wasn't even expecting to wake for another eight hours at least. With a heavy sigh, she lay her head back on the pillow and gently closed her eyes.

**_Indescribable pain and fire. Death to all those who live._**

Again she woke with another jolt. 12:19 a.m. Damn again. At this point she knew that if she tried to fall asleep, those images would infest her dreams.

'Oh well,' Buffy thought, 'Maybe now I can catch up on those infomercials I've been meaning to watch.' She pulled the bedsheets off her body and rolled out of bed. 'Whoa. . . head rush,' she told herself as she tried to calm down from the dizziness.

Carefully, Buffy cracked open her door and quietly headed down the hallway towards the stairs. She tip-toed her way past Dawn's room, cautious not to wake her sleeping sister.

After she made her way down the stairs she took a sharp turn and ended up in the kitchen. While reaching for a glass in the cupboard her mind wandered towards her vivid nightmare. The images of carnage had been so clear, so sharp. But the message it left was a completely different matter. 

Okay, okay. The obvious message was the world was going to end in an ocean of crimson blood. Any simpleton could figure that one out. And the Slayer's no simpleton. What was bothering her was the last little footnote that was left just before she woke up.

City of Angels.

Hell, that one was easy. The City of Angels was Los Angeles. Well. . . _she_ was from L.A. Maybe that had something to do with it.

Nah, that was too easy. It had to be something more.

Buffy slowed her thoughts to a drawl as she poured milk into her glass, put the container back into the fridge, and started her way to the living room.

L.A. Los Angeles. City of Angels. Hollywood. Rodeo Drive. Wait, what does fashion have to do with the Apocalypse. Okay, let's start over:

L.A. Los Angeles. City of Angels. It's a city. It's a city that has angels. Hmm, getting warmer. It has one angel.

Angel.

The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. She stopped her dead in her tracks. If she hadn't caught herself, the milk would have come crashing to the floor. 

'Of course, Buff. That's what's so important about "The City of Angels." Angel! "Hello, phone call from Mr. Obvious." His name's in the damn message!'

Uh-oh, here came that head rush again. She needed to sit down. Then a different feeling rose from her gut. An overwhelming urge to call L.A.

"This late?" she told herself. "He's probably asleep."

'He's a vampire. He doesn't sleep.'

"Well, well, common sense wins again," she dryly announced to the empty room.

Against her own will, she trudged her way to the phone in the kitchen. Buffy felt like she was under a voodoo spell as she set the milk glass on the counter and picked up the receiver. Something stopped her from dialing.

What was Angel's number? 

She racked her brain searching the endless stream of phone numbers she seemed to have memorized over the past 21 years.

Nope, no Angel. Now she'd have to consult the phone book. All the way in the cupboard on the other side of the kitchen. 

Buffy suddenly felt very, _very_ tired. With a sleepy whimper, she walked oh-so-very slowly to the drawer that held the phone book. 

"Where is it, where is it?" she mumbled to herself as she pulled open all the cupboard drawers to find the right one. Finally, on the last one she looked in, she saw the familiar yellow cover. 

"Bingo." Buffy triumphantly held the fat yellow book in front of her and set it down on the kitchen table. But now another problem posed itself. 

What would Angel be under? She didn't actually expect the vampire to have his name in the yellow pages. Would he? No, no he wouldn't. Okay, a new plan. She would look for his company. 

Angel Investigations. Detective agencies. 

"D. . . de-. . . det-. . . detect. . . here we go. Detective agencies." 

God, there were a lot of detectives in Los Angeles. Buffy guessed that L.A. would be a gold mine for detectives, considering all the crime that goes on. Makes sense. Especially at 12:30 in the morning.

Detective agencies. "A." Buffy didn't realize there were so many P.I.'s that started with an A. Man, there were a lot. She traced the page with her index finger until she found what she was looking for. 

Angel Investigations. It wasn't a big ad. In fact it was quite tiny. The ad was a small black square that couldn't have taken up more than 1/16th of the entire page. Within the box held a picture of what seemed to look like a demented bird, a motto ("We help the helpless") and what she had been looking for: the phone number. 

With a few swift movements of her dialing finger, Buffy dialed the number inside the small box. She placed the phone to her ear and waited while the calling sound rang in her ear. While she waited, she began to think. 

'Oh, God. What if he answers? What do I say?' Her eyes widened at another thought. 'What if he doesn't answer? What if I dialed the wrong number? What if-' She had no more time to worry. The ringing stopped. A voice came on the line.

"Angel Investigations. Your problems are our problems." That wasn't Angel's voice. No, it was someone else. Someone familiar. Wesley.

"Oh, hi Wesley. It's Buffy." Silence. No response. "Is Angel there? I need to talk to him." More silence. Faintly, Buffy could hear him call out Angel's name. The voice sounded fearful. Footsteps. An icy hand reached into her stomach and began twisting. 

'Oh, this was a bad idea. A very bad idea. I should just hang up and-'

"Angel speaking." He sounded scared. But it was him all right and no denying.

"Hello Angel." 


	3. The AT&T Nightmare

"Buffy," Angel breathed. In a way, he was relieved. In another, frightened to a second death.

"Yep, that's me," Buffy replied.

Cordelia was brimming with curiosity. "Wes, who is it? I can barely hear a word he's saying."

"It's Buffy." Wesley held out his hand, like a high-five sign, in an attempt to stop Cordelia when she got too close. "And for your information, he's barely spoken a word."

"Buffy?" _Now_ she was curious. And a bit worried. "What's wrong? Why's she calling? She didn't die again, did she?"

Wesley, Gunn, and Fred all gave Cordy the same puzzled look at the same time.

"What? Oh, like she hasn't done it before! What's stopping her from doing it again?" Stares continued in Cordy's direction. Wesley was the first of the three to speak.

"One must ponder the ever-complicated mind of Cordelia Chase."

"I think if they did, their head would explode," Gunn interjected.

"Ah, yes." Fred could only nod in agreement.

The conversation on the phone continued, despite Cordelia's ramblings.

"Why, uh, I mean, how. . . uh. . . how are you? Everything okay?" Angel was finally able to stutter out.

"Okay? Me? Yeah, just. . . peachy." Now Buffy felt like an idiot. That's the best she could come up with? _Peachy?_

"Well, that's good to hear." Well, aren't you just the gentleman this evening, Mr. Angel? "How are, uh, things in your neck of the woods? I mean, I haven't seen you in nearly a year."

He didn't know why it had been so long since he'd seen her. Oh, yes. How could he have ever forgotten?

He was avoiding her.

Why? Angel will be damned again if he knew. There really wasn't any particular reason to do so. 'Angel, quit the denial. You know goddamn well there is.'

Connor. How could he see her without telling him about his son? Of course, then she would ask the obvious question about the mother. _How could he tell her about Darla?_ Angel knew if he had an active circulatory system, he would have a gigantic headache right about now.

Angel knew shouldn't put all the blame on himself. It does take _two_ people to avoid contact with one another. She could've just as easily sent him a letter or an e-mail. Ah, hell, even a singing telegram would have been a nice gesture too.

But she didn't even bother. What could Buffy possibly be hiding that she was so afraid of him finding out?

"Wow, you're right. It has been that long, hasn't it?" And it didn't take her long to remember why she had cut off contact with the undeniable love of her life.

What if Angel found out about the "affair" with Spike, the one person he'd least expect her to lay hands on in a non-violent way? Would he ever forgive her for doing that most unspeakable of deeds to his own grandson? If she completely lost contact with Angel. . . no, she didn't want to think about it right now.

On the other hand, Buffy _did_ break it off before it got too far beyond her control. That had to count for something in Angel's book, didn't it? Besides, he's probably got a few -thousand- skeletons in his closet that he's gathered up over 249 years. But what could he possibly hide that would be in any way remotely as earth-shattering as what she had done?

"Actually, Angel, I called to. . . um. . . uh, to see if _you_ were okay."

Angel had been taken back by this. Why, he couldn't tell you, but still shocked nonetheless. "Thanks for the concern, Buffy, but everything's going just fine. The only thing that has happened was this morning when Gunn got caught in the elevator when the power went out while he was on his way up to go the bathroom."

"Yo, man, I told you to tell no one 'bout that! It's embarrassing enough as it is, getting caught in that damned contraption and feeling all scared and frightened and alone. But you goin' round tellin' people about. . ." Gunn let out a "pshh" sound and slapped the air in Angel's direction. "The trust. . . gone."

"Oh!" Fred suddenly cried out, in sudden realization. "That's why you were crying!"

"I wasn't crying!!" Gunn screamed at the top of his lungs, trying very hard to keep hold of his manliness.

Buffy couldn't help but laugh now. She'd nearly forgotten that Angel had an unlife of his own, with people who care about him and trust him. 

Or used to.

"How'd you get him out?"

"That's actually a funny story. . ." Angel began to laugh uncontrollably, then was immediately cut off due to the extreme Gunn holding a stake to his back. ". . . that I'll tell you later." Gunn lowered the stake and nodded triumphantly. "So, uh, what's wrong? What made you think I wasn't okay?"

Buffy hesitated for a moment, trying to remember why she had in the first place. The nightmare. Right. 

So she told him about the horrid nightmare she had woken from not but 15 minutes ago. She told him everything from the molten lava to the message about the "City of Angels" and right down the rivers of blood. Okay, that last part freaked her out a bit but she decided on telling him everything while she was awake. 

Buffy noticed, a little too late, that she had gradually been getting drowsier and drowsier as she had listened to the goings-on of Angel and the gang. 'Screw the sleeping pills. This works _just_ fine.' She also then noticed that Angel hadn't said a word since she spilled the beans about the dream.

"Angel?" she asked, hoping he hadn't passed out or gotten hit over the head with a blunt instrument. 

"Yeah, I'm still undead," he responded with. "I was just thinking, that's all." He took an unneeded breath and said, "That's pretty freaky."

"No need to tell me twice," Buffy responded. They both stayed silent for a moment, reveling in the moment they hadn't had in a long while. Angel broke the blissful silence and spooking Buffy, who had nearly gone back to sleep on a stool, in the process.

"I'll have Wesley do some research on your dream, just to see if it's a Slayer prophecy or just a pizza-induced nightmare. I'll call you if it's anything serious."

'How did he know I had-' 

"Okay, great," she said, not being able to hold back the yawning anymore. "Say, thanks for listening to my ramblings. God, I must sound like a zombie with a cold."

"No you don't." Angel had to admit, she kind of did. But, unlike his employee and confidant Cordelia, he had tact. Another bonus with the soul package. "But bedtime does seem like a good idea for you. You sound like you haven't slept in weeks."

"Close. Try days." Buffy figured that she should have one last joke before she hung up. Angel snickered.

"G'night Buffy. Sweet dreams."

"Pleasant nightmares," Buffy said, not even being able to think before she said anymore. With a click of the phone, she fell asleep before her head even hit the counter. 

********

Angel set the phone back onto its handle and walked from the counter. God, it had been good to hear from her again. He didn't realize it but over the past three years, he'd missed her a lot. A voice from the outside interrupted his thoughts.

"So, what's the happening's in Sunnydale?" Cordelia asked, eager to know every morsel of detail.

Angel, intentionally ignoring Cordelia for the moment being, turned to Wesley and began to tell him about Buffy's dream.

Cordy was none to pleased at the lack of attention. "Well?! What's going on? What's so damn important that Wesley needs to know before I do?! Hello?! Queen of Gossip needing her fix here!!" But no matter how much she pleaded, Angel still wouldn't turn away from Wesley.

Once the vampire had finished the tale, Wesley nodded. "Right, right. It could be another Slayer foreseeing the future. Or just a pizza nightmare."

"That's what I told her. But you know, it's better to be safe than sorry, Wes."

"I see. I'll get on it first thing in the morning. In the meantime, I'm going to get some shut-eye." Wesley grabbed his coat and began to pull open the front door. "Good night, all."

"Night, Wes." Everybody sleepily replied. He then exited with nothing more to say.

"I'm gonna have to agree with British on this one. It is time to turn in. My eyelids are turnin' to sand bags." Gunn gently grabbed Fred's hand. "See ya tomorrow."

"Bright 'n early," Fred continued.

"Well, I don't know about early, but bright it is!" Gunn reluctantly released Fred's hand and walked to the door. "See ya, Big A."

"See ya, Gunn," Angel said and Gunn departed. "You should go to bed too, Fred. It's pretty late."

Fred yawned. "You're right. I will." She turned from Angel and walked to the stairs leading to her room. "Night guys."

"Goodnight Fred," Angel and Cordy said together. 

Once she was out of sight, Cordelia spoke. "You _do_ know about Gunn and Fred, right?"

"What?" Angel said offhandedly.

"You know, the little romance they've got cookin'?"

Angel hadn't really noticed, but pretended to. "Oh, yeah, yeah, right. The 'thing.'"

Cordelia shook her head. "Right. Anyway, I'll be headin' off. Dennis 'n Groo are probably worried about me by now."

Angel only nodded. "See you in the morning, Cordy." That rip-off. Angel made no attempts in hiding the fact that he did not like the Groosalugg. He didn't even know why. Maybe it was the fact that he'd stolen his clothes and managed to ruin his favorite shirt. Maybe it was something else.

By the time his mind focused on the here and now, she was gone. Now he was all alone in the hotel lobby. Kind of nice.

"What's all the hubbub, bub?" Lorne had come down the stairs without Angel knowing. A rare occurance. The green Pylean was cradling Connor, who was wearing blue pajamas and wrapped in white blankets from his crib. When Lorne noticed Angel looking, he made a quick comment. 

"I think he wants his daddy." Angel scooped his son from Lorne's arms and walked up the stairs towards his room. 

"'Night, Lorne." Angel called from the top of the stairs.

"'Night." Lorne needed a Kahula.


	4. It's Funny Until Someone Gets Hurt...

Author's Note: Hey all! I'm gonna be doing some plot rearranging in the upcoming chapters. One, there isn't going to be a Scooby death, which leaving them all alive and kicking. Two, Xander and Anya _do _get married when they're supposed to, meaning he didn't get cold feet and all that. Now that we've got that cleared. . . onward with the story.

__

Some unlit street corner in Los Angeles

Freedom. The word rang in her mind like a dulcet choir. One more day in that goddamn prison cell they kept her locked in and she would have hung herself from her bedsheets or dug her way out of there with a plastic spoon.

Either would have worked.

For the first time since she was released from that hellhole they call a jail, she took a deep breath of air, smoggy as it was, and closed her eyes. The wind brushed her dark and flowing hair against her nose and, though it tickled, she didn't bother to sweep it away.

Two years ago, she wouldn't have given a second thought to the wind or the air. Back in the days when she was carefree. . . and a might bit psychotic.

But those days were long since behind her. 

She had to admit, there is something to be said about being locked up for two years of your life to really open your eyes to the real world. How insignificant your problems are compared to the other people who have screwed their lives up so bad that there was no possible way of fixing them.

She, however, was different from those people. She'd had a choice. But she was so stubborn that she didn't give a rat's ass about what anybody else thought. She was queen of the castle, ruler of the domain. 

Until she had a taste of what it was really like. To be a killer. And, for reasons to this day she doesn't understand, turned herself in. 

So that's where she's been for the past two years. Living with her past, planning her future, trapped in the now. 

She opened her eyes at precisely the right moment. Across the street, she could dimly make out a couple, a petite-sized girl and a guy, duck into an alleyway. Her first instinct was to follow them and beat the guy senseless. But she wasn't going to go there again.

Kill an innocent man. And back in that sorry excuse for a prison. She shuttered at the thought.

She decided to wait until she heard a scream. That's when she'd make her move. In the meantime, she shut her eyes and just listened. Not for anything in particular, mind you, but she was just listening. 

The honking of cars a few streets east, the closing of shop doors a bit of the way west, the screaming of a girl to the north, police sirens to the south. 

'The screaming of a girl? That's not right.' She opened her eyes and, sure enough, the young girl that had gone into that alley was screaming bloody murder. And not metaphorically either.

The shrieking continued as she reacted. 'Ah, my siren's call. How good to hear from you again,' she thought as she dashed down the abandoned street and leapt into the alley. 

The first thing she needed to know was what her opponent actually was. Was he vampire or demon? Whatever he was, he was holding a knife to the poor girl's throat. Was this simply a "grr-crush-destroy" monster (she's seen plenty of those in her time) or did he have a purpose? 

With a roundhouse kick, she hit the demon's (_small, but could still be considered one_) arm with her steel-toed combat boots, forcing him to drop the weapon from shock alone. 

"You. . ." the demon growled in a deep, grunting voice as he turned to face his assailant.

"Oh, so I'm famous now? I hadn't heard," she sarcastically replied as she picked up the dagger off the littered ground. She flipped it around in her hand a few times to get a feel for it, then pointed the blade at the now-defenseless scaly monster. 

She looked up at the girl, now free from the demon's grasp, and made an urgent gesture for her to leave. The girl, who couldn't have been older than sixteen, fled from the scene faster than Superman on speed. 

Another day, another innocent life saved. Now she just had to take care of this extremely pissed off demon before she could call it a night. 

"I need her chaste blood!" the demon angrily cried as he lunged for her, baring all his teeth in an angry fashion. 

With no effort on her part, she jabbed the knife into the demon's heart and, like a bolt of lightning, caught him, lifted him over her head and through him into a pile of used garbage bags. "So you work for the Red Cross, do you? Damn, you guys must be desperate for volunteers nowadays, aren't ya?"

"My death will be avenged! You just wait. . . and. . ." With a heavy sigh, the demon closed his eyes and lay silent. He was dead.

Her first day out, she'd bagged herself the Creature from the Black Lagoon. And she'd picked up a nifty little prize, which she ceremoniously pulled from the demon's scale-covered gut. It was all covered in black ooze, blood most likely, but that was no problem. She wiped the blade on the sleeve of her overcoat and slid it into her right pocket. 

And, as she turned and left the alley, a gold gleam from the dirty ground caught her eye. She crouched down to pick it up. It was a coin, that much she was sure of. Carved onto the symbol of a huge, lidless eye crying blood in a single tear. The eye was licked in flames. On the backside, there was a lone angel lying dead on the ground, bleeding in rivers. 'Now that's something I didn't need to see.'

She straightened her posture and faced the exit to the alley. As she walked, her theme song popped into her head. 'Ya gotta have Faith.'

************

"'Zip-a-dee-do-dah, zip-a-dee-day. My, oh my, what a wonderful day,'" Xander sang as he carried a crate from the basement of the Magic Box to the front window of the store. He then paused to wonder the meaning of the song.

"But. . . is it a 'zip-a-dee-do-dah' kind of day?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. But he had reasons to ask. Outside the store, the normally crystal blue Southern California sky suddenly became overcast with shady gray clouds. "'Plenty of sunshine headed my way. . .' Now there's a lie."

"But that nice portly gentleman with the toupee on channel 5 said there would be lots of sunshine today. He even showed a map of a comical cartoon sun wearing sunglasses hovering over Sunnydale. I mean, why would a sun need to wear sunglasses? He doesn't need to protect his eyes from himself, does he?"

"Anya," Xander said, "it'll be a cold day in Hell when the weatherman can actually predict the weather correctly."

"It can't get cold in Hell, sweetie," she replied. "It can get balmy, but never cold."

Xander could only shake his head as he set down the crate. "The things you learn from an ex-demon," he muttered as he disappeared back into the store's basement.

Anya was left alone to mill about behind the cash register for a few moments while Xander went to get another box. No customers were in the store today and that always got her a bit worried. So, to keep herself entertained, she opened the cash register and began to count the greens inside.

No sooner than she had started that task when the bell at the front door chimed, signifying customers. Preferably paying ones. It was only Buffy, who looked extremely tired, Willow, and Tara. Much to Anya's dismay. Trailing the girls was a large demon with antlers wearing a nice suit covered in his own slime.

"Is this yours?" Buffy asked, sticking her thumb in the demon's direction as she walked down the front stairs of the store. 

Anya's eyes lit up like a set of headlights. She dashed in the slimy demon's direction, right hand out in greeting. 

"Chad!" she excitedly chirped as she took the greasy hand into her own. 

"Nice place you have here, Anyanka," the demon complimented as he returned the shake.

"Well. . ." Anya began to blush. "I try. . ."

"MADRE DE DIOS! What the hell is that?!" Xander screamed, pointing a shaking finger at Chad.

"Xander, I didn't know you could speak Spanish," Willow pointed out.

Xander mouth stayed agape. "I didn't either," he responded, scratching his scalp.

Chad chuckled and placed his hand on Willow's head. "Don't worry about that, Redhead. I used to hear that all the time in Brazil."

"Ah, man, I just washed that!" Willow pulled away from the demon's grasp and began pulling slime out of her sticky hair.

"Xander, this is Chad," Anya lead Chad to a still-confused Xander. "Chad. . . Xander."

"Chad?" Xander asked with a confused tone. 

"Pleasure to meet you." Chad held out a hand in warm greeting.

"Likewise." Xander lightly brushed Chad's hand away. "Honey, when I said you could hire a helping hand, I didn't mean a slimy one!"

"Xander!" Anya began to argue. "Chad's an old friend of mine."

"You had guy friends?"

"Very few." Anya shook her head. "He's in town for a couple weeks and he said he needed the money. . . and seeing as how I've been a bit short of help recently. . ."

"Fine, fine. Just. . . get him behind the cash register. He's getting slime all over the floor and. . ." Xander shuttered. ". . . it's creepy."

Anya sighed and grasped Chad's hand. "Fine, have it your way. C'mon Chad, I'll show you how to work the money." Once the giant demon was out of the way, Xander got his first look at a disheveled Buffy and a grimacing Willow, still pulling out bits of slime from her hair.

"Gosh, Buff. Looks like somebody didn't get their nightly dose of 40 winks," he commented on the bags under her eyes. Suddenly realizing the weight on his arms was becoming a burden, Xander set down the box. 

"Nightmares," she mumbled between her yawn. "Don't ask."

"Don't mind if I do." Without another word, he pulled a few orbs put of the crate and climbed up the ladder by the door. 

"That's going to stain. . ." Willow grumbled as she headed towards the counter, where Chad was learning to work the register. 

"Out of curiosity, what kind of demon are you?" Willow leaned forward, elbows propped on the counter. "Never seen your type before."

Anya piped up. "Chad's a Chaos demon from Brazil. No, no, the fives go in that slot. . . yeah, like that."

"Hmm. . . a Chaos demon from Brazil. Not the first time I heard that story. . ." Willow said offhandedly.

"That's nice." Anya didn't even make eye contact with Willow as she helped Chad make change. 

"So. . . uh. . . What's the occasion? Why have you stopped in our fine town?" 

"Well. . . that's actually quite an amus-" Chad had been cut off by the sound of slamming doors in the basement. The banging continued as, whoever it was, ran loudly up the stairs and pushed open the door with great force. 

Before he knew what hit him Spike slipped in the slime that Chad had left, lost his footing, and slammed right into the ladder Xander was still on. With a startled scream, Xander went flying off the top step of the ladder and hit his head on the hardwood floor with a gut-wrenching smack.

"Son of a bitch!" Spike yelled, grasping his forehead with his right hand. "Who's the bastard that put that. . . slime?! Why's there slime on the floor?!"

All the girls ran to Xander's aid, Anya leading. She turned Xander over onto his back and held his head in her lap. There was blood streaming out of his nostrils, his ears, and the profuse wound on his forehead he had gotten from the fall. She gave Spike, who now had to sit down from the enormous pain in his skull, a death glare.

"You idiot!" she hollered. "How could you be so careless?!"

"I'm. . . ow. . . evil, that's why. And, not to burst your bubble, demon girl, I didn't _intend_ to come running in here and slip on slime and crash into the ladder the whelp just _happened_ to be on. And where the hell did that slime come from?!"

Anya held up Xander's head and looked hard at his unconscious face. "Well congratulations, peroxide brain! You just killed him!"

*Oh, this is just so evil. I can't believe how evil I am. I'm just an evil-cliffhanger person. Guess you'll just have to wait and see. Mwa-ha-ha-ha!!!*


	5. ...Then It's Hilarious

Author's Note: Well, this took a liiitle longer than expected. Sorry for the delay, I just couldn't finish this damn chapter! Anyway, now that I've got that off my chest. . . let's get on with the wackiness still in progress at the Magic Box.

"Dead? Please. . ." Spike, who was still clutching his head thanks to his chip-induced headache, stood up and walked towards the collapsed Xander, who was now bleeding out of his mouth. He took a good, hard look at the boy and came to a conclusion. "He's just resting."

"Oh yeah, right," Buffy sarcastically replied, crossing her arms, "And next you're gonna tell us he's 'pining for the fjords.'"

"Well. . . yeah."

"No, see. . ." Willow knelt beside Xander, tilted his head to expose the full of his neck and placed two fingers on his jugular. "Spike's right. He is just resting. . . in a coma.

"My conclusion," Willow said as she stood up, wiping Xander's blood off her hands. "A pretty nasty concussion. Tara. . . call 911."

Tara complied and headed to the counter. She picked up the receiver and dialed.

"Will he be okay?" Chad asked, making his first departure from behind the counter since the accident. It was at this very moment that Spike got his first good look at Anya's new employee. He was none too pleased by what he saw.

"What the bloody hell is _he_ doing here?!?" he hollered, leaping back in complete surprise. "Get him out of here before I rip his bloody antlers off!!"

"What is your trauma, Spike?" Buffy asked.

"Wait a minute. You two know each other?" Anya inquired of the now infuriated vampire.

"Oh, yeah, we've met," Spike replied, feigning composure. "As, oh. . . how do you say. . . acquaintances and. . . uh. . . as. . ." The composure snapped. "**_As girlfriend stealers!!!_**" 

Chad's eyes widened with sudden thought. "Oh. . . dude. . . you're that vampire with the crazy girlfriend." Chad let out a chuckle. "Man, she was a beauty. . ."

"_Shut up!_"

"Did you two ever work it out?"

"Well, I'm here." Spike waved his arm. "What does that tell you?"

"Is this the Chaos demon that Drusilla cheated on you with?" Willow asked innocently.

"Paramedics should be here any minute," Tara announced, departing from the counter. She wasn't even heard over all the insanity that was brewing.

Buffy couldn't control herself and she began to bust up laughing. "She. . . cheated. . . on you. . . with. . .?" The laughter continued.

"**_Shut up!!_**"

Willow kept asking needless questions. "Wasn't she making out with him on a park bench?"

This did it. That little vampire who still lived somewhere in his brain was unleashed and, with a burst of vampiric anger, took a flying run at the slime-covered demon. 

But just as he got near Chad, the demon (a kniving one he is) tilted his head forward, aiming his antlers directly at the charging vampire, causing Spike to fall back in fear of being impaled. "Goddammit! Don't do that!"

Anger still coursing in his veins, he got himself some running distance and charged again, ready to rip off those damn antlers if they were pointed at him again.

Spike didn't even know what hit him. Chad was a whole hell of a lot stronger than he looked. With a flick of his wrist, Chad sent the vampire flying across the magic shop, over the shelf and crashing him into the table near the store counter. 

Buffy looked on in awe. She'd never seen such a display of strength. "How'd you do that?"

A meek little cry came from the direction of the broken table. "Help."

"Oh, what now?" Buffy impatiently asked. 

Spike just wasn't having any luck today. First, he slipped on some weird slime on the floor and seriously injured the whelp in the process, causing _himself_ a nasty headache. Next, the demon that had taken his precious Dru away was working at the Magic Box. And now, a broken piece of the wooden table was aimed directly at his heart. Another part of the table was weighting him down from the back and the only thing keeping him from turning into a pile of ash was his arm strength, which was slowly but surely giving away.

"Well. . . that's what you get for trying to hurt Xander _and _Chad!" Anya scolded.

"Once again, I didn't intentionally hurt the whelp. There was slime on the floor!"

Willow brought up a good point. "Why were you running in here so damn fast anyway? It's not like the sun's bright and shining out there." She pointed to the window, which revealed a dismal day in Southern California.

"Uh. . . do I have to tell?"

"Do you want to become a pile of dust?" Buffy threatened.

Before Spike could tell the tale sirens blared outside, signifying the arrival of the paramedics. The ambulance workers burst through the Magic Box front door, nearly ripping that damn bell with them, and charged to the bleeding victim. Before anyone could say anything, they had Xander strapped to the stretcher and rolled him right out the door they came in. 

Anya charged out the door yelling at the paramedics, who were now loading Xander into the van. "Give him back! He's mine! That's my orgasm buddy, give him back!"

Buffy broke the awkward silence left. "Raise your hand if you thought that was weird."

"Okay, that's just not funny," Spike griped, still trapped in the ruins of the former table. "Can you get me out now?"

"Not until you tell us why you came here in the first place."

With an angry groan, he began to spill the beans. "I was at your house. . . watching Dawn, like you told me to. . . when the phone rang."

"And?"

"It was Angel."

"Go on. . ."

"He needed you right away." Spike put on a crooked smile. "You'd think after three years, Peaches would actually get over you."

"Shut up," she snapped. "What did he say?"

"Nothing. Just that if he didn't hear from you in five minutes, he would have my head."

"And you were actually afraid of his threat?"

Spike shook his head. His arm power was giving away quicker than he had expected. "Of course not. It was just that. . ."

"Just what?"

"He just. . . he just. . ." Spike nearly broke into tears. ". . . he started singing! Oh God, it was horrible!" 

Buffy shivered, almost sympathetically. "Fine, you win." She went to the table, pulled the heavy weight off the vampire's back and lifted him up and away from the hazardous broken wood. "He actually started singing?"

Spike began wiping wood splinters off his duster. "I swear, his singing voice is a cross between Barry Manilow and a blender. A proverbial assault on any ears that have to listen." 

"Ouch. It's that bad, huh?"

Spike shook his head. "You have no idea."

"Well, I'll get calling. No need to suffer anymore than you have to for one day." Buffy left him standing near the table ruins and made her way around the counter. "Out of curiosity," she said as she picked up the phone handle, "what did he sing?"

"Ugh. . ." Spike groaned as he remembered the attack on his brain. "'Dancing Queen.' Let us never speak of it again."

************

Wesley entered Angel Investigations the next morning carrying stacks of dust-covered books that rose above his head. Due to this lack of vision, he miscalculated the front steps that lead down from the front door and came toppling down, books and all. He let out an aggrevated groan as he picked himself up off the floor and began gathering the fallen books, one by one. 

Fred, from the top of the stairs, had witnessed the whole event and went to her boss' aid. 

"Thanks, Fred," Wesley gratefully responded as Fred helped him pick up the books and carried some of the older, more fragile editions and walked with him to his office. 

"What. . . oomph. . . are all these?" Fred struggled to ask under all the weight.

"Books on Apocalypses," Wesley replied when all the books and journals had been organized into four stacks (books, journals, diaries, and miscellany). "Making sure Buffy's dream isn't actually going to come to pass." 

"I see," Fred absentmindedly replied. She took the top book from one of the stacks and opened it to a random page. 

"What exactly are you looking for?"

"Rivers of molten fire, the sky raining blood. . . the usual."

Fred nodded. "Ah." On another note, "Want some coffee?"

This caught Wesley's attention as he took a journal from the journal stack ("The Prophecies of Aedius the Insane") and began thumbing through the crinkly pages. "Desperately." He had spent half the night trying to find all these ancient books and missed his precious eight hours of unconsciousness.

Without saying a word, Fred went to the kitchen and began brewing a couple of cups of hot java. 

"Good day, good day," a cheery Cordelia announced to the lively crowd in the Hyperion. When all she received from her audience were tired groans, a look came across her face. "Whoa. . . tough crowd." 

"Morning all." Angel, carrying Connor carefully, appeared without anybody hearing or seeing him.

"How do you do that?" Cordelia asked. 

"Do what?"

"Do that. . . thing where. . . you know, that appearing thingy."

"Hmm."

"Stupid vampire tricks." She further pursued the topic. "Why couldn't Darla have given you the ability to hypnotize or witty banter or something?" Angel rested Connor in his crib and walked towards the kitchen. Without looking back, he responded dryly, "Dru, Spike." Angel raised his hand and lifted his first, then second finger with each name. He still didn't turn around.

Cordelia sighed. "Of course."

Angel, after grabbing himself a bag of blood from the fridge and pouring it into a cup, went into Wesley's office. He observed the stacks on the desk. "Starting a library?" 

"Oh yes," Wesley returned. Fred brought in the coffee she had just brewed. "Thanks."

"Have you found anything?" Angel took a sip of blood from the glass cup.

"In the two minutes and three pages I've read so far. . ." Wesley slammed his fist on his desk. "Nope, I just don't have any luck today."

Cordelia laughed. "Wesley got himself a sense of humor! Did you find that in a book or are you actually developing a wit?"

"Pick one." Wesley took a long sip of his coffee.

Cordelia did an about face and let out a huff. "Drama queen." Her attitude quickly changed. "Oh, hey Gunn!"

Gunn pointed randomly around the room in a confused manner. "Did I. . . uh, miss something?"

Fred nodded. "Unfortunately." 

Trying to lighten the mood in the room, Gunn walked into Wesley's office and kindly said, "Good morning, boss."

"Look, Gunn, I'm very busy right now and I was up half the night and, if you don't mind, I would like to get my work done without these needless interruptions by random comments from people just trying to annoy me!!"

Gunn turned and shrugged his shoulders. "All I said was 'good morning'. . ."

Angel leaned into Gunn's ear. "He's been like this all morning. Best not to bother him when he's in 'research mode.'" 

"Good idea," Gunn mumbled as he cautiously backed out of Wesley's office and poured himself a cup of Fred-coffee. He took a sip and he felt as though someone had bludgeoned him in the face with a battering ram. "Whoo. . . damn Fred. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to kill us."

"It's like the old saying in my family goes. . . 'If your coffee isn't strong enough to grow arms and slap you in the face, then it's not worth drinking.'"

"You Texans sure have some weird sayings." 

"And damn proud of it, too."

Lorne, clad in a purple robe and clutching a Kahula, marched right on down the stairs and took a glance out the window. "'It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood,' my ass."

"Yeah," Cordelia added, "What's up with the weather outside? Did the sun decide to take a summer vacation or what?"

"Good for me," Angel replied.

"And by the way," Lorne cut in. "Who's this?" The gang, who had now left the cranky Wesley to his work, all turned at the same time and looked at the front door. Standing in the doorway was none other than Ms. "Five by Five" herself, Faith the Vampire Slayer.

"Faith?!" All but Fred cried out. 

"Faith?!" Wesley cried out, leaping up from behind his desk and joining the other five.

"Faith?" she asked to anyone who would listen.

"When did _you_ get out of jail?" Cordelia blurted out. "And how?!"

Faith shoved her hands in her overcoat pocketed and began to wonder the hotel lobby. "Apparently I was a good girl."

The gang, except Fred who was still so very confused, burst into laughter. "You? A good girl?"

"Nice weapons you got here, Angel-cakes," Faith said, meandering towards Angel's weapon cabinet. 

"Keep away from those, now," Angel warned.

Faith turned away from the cabinet. "Don't worry, I'm not hear to _kill_ anyone." Only she laughed at her own joke. "I have something to show you."

"Whatever it is, keep that coat on," Gunn cried, trying hard to cover his eyes. 

Faith laughed again. "I like him, he's funny." Faith chuckled, pointing a finger his way "It's actually something for the former Watcher over there."

Wesley pointed at himself. "Me?"

The Slayer nodded. "I found this. . ." She ruffled her left hand in her pocket and pulled out the coin she had found earlier. ". . . when kicking some scaly demon ass." Faith flipped the coin in Wesley's direction and he caught it with upward palms. "Nice catch."

Wesley took a good look at the object now in his hands. After a few moments, he let out a gasp and dropped it. "Angel. . ."

"Yeah, Wes?"

"Call Buffy. That dream. . . was more than a dream."

Faith was confused. "What about B? What does that little gold pirate coin have anything to do with her?"

"She dreamt. . ." Wesley didn't finish the sentence.

Angel silently slipped into his boss' office and picked up the receiver. He dialed her number with a careful speed and waited for Buffy's voice on the other end. Unless Buffy had become male and British overnight, this wasn't her talking. "Summers-es-es. . ."

"Spike?"

"Peaches?" Angel had always disliked that name, but it was better than the other one he was so often referred to as. 

"What're you doing at Buffy's place?"

"Watching Dawn. Why are _you_ calling?"

"I need Buffy right away."

"You'd think after three years, you'd get over her."

"Shut up." Angel was growing a bit peeved with his grandsire. "Just get her on the phone."

"That's more difficult than it sounds, nancy-boy."

"Why's that?"

"She's not in."

"Well get her then, _William_."

Angel heard a huff on the other end. "Just for that, I won't."

"Get her now, or I'll have your head."

"I've got two letters for you. Wanna guess what they are?"

"No."

"Right! Very good!" Spike's happy mood changed. "No."

Angel knew if he had to get his way with the vampire, he would have to break out the big guns. "If you don't get her on the phone in five minutes, I'll sing."

Silence. "You wouldn't."

"Try me." 

More silence. "No."

Angel cleared his throat and began to sing the first song that came into his head. "You are the dancing queen. . . Young and sweet only-" Mutilated screams could be heard from Spike's end. It was working. 

"-seventeen!" 

"Make it stop!" Spike screamed. "I'll get her, I'll get her. Just make it stop!" Victory was Angel's. 

"Five minutes?" Angel asked.

"Yes. . . Oh bloody hell, my ears!" The phone clicked as Spike hung up.

Torture had always been Angel's specialty.


	6. The British Invasion Meets "One Flew Ove...

God, his legs ached. He could barely feel his body below his waist. It was all numb and unfeeling. But, he quickly reminded himself, really long plane rides tend to have that effect on a person. Or maybe it was that goddamn movie ('if I see "Charlie's Angels" one more time, I'll kill myself with a spoon') that he'd been watching for the last thirteen hours (that's counting all the flights he's taken over the last few weeks) over and over and over again before he had lost it and threatened the whining kid next to him with a plastic fork. 

Why the hell was he returning? Or, a better question, why was he returning to hell? He promised himself that he would never, never return to this god forsaken town unless the end of all existence was upon the world.

Unfortunately, this was the case. 

For the past three weeks, Giles had been chasing a demon across seven cities, three countries, and two continents. And the blimey bastard had decided to make his way to Southern California. The last place he wanted to go back to. 

He started to think his thoughts were taking a turn for the bitter. Remember, Rupert, long flights make people cranky. But chasing a Chaos demon (named Chuck no less) from London to Liverpool, from Liverpool to Belfast, from Belfast to Dublin, from Dublin to Galway, from Galway to New York, and from New York to Sunnydale also has its negative effects on a man. He wasn't built for that kind of wear and tear.

One would ask what's so damn important about a Chaos demon named Chuck. What would cause Giles, Super Watcher, to chase this demon to pure exhaustion? If you asked him directly, he honestly couldn't give you an answer. 

The signs of the Apocalypse had started showing themselves. Reports of boiling lakes, a litter of snakes born to a cat, and all those other things you'd find in the "National Enquirer" were coming to pass. People in mental hospitals around the world were screaming in their cells, yelling something about rivers of fire and skies of blood. To the common man, this was "crazy talk," just another example of why those looneys deserved to be locked up in the first place. To the uncommon man, like Giles, this was a thing to be concerned with.

And when a Chaos demon began wreaking havoc on London's city streets, it piqued Giles' interest. When demons like that (usually a docile breed that, for the most part, wouldn't hurt a fly if it bit them in the ass despite their not-so-friendly name) commit violent acts to innocent victims in broad daylight, a long night of researching and six kettles of tea were in order.

What did he dig up in his research-fest, you ask? 

In the 42 straight hours he had spent searching for clues of an impending doom, which had left him in a very bad mood, he came across an interesting little event the Spanish like to call the "Sagrado Fallecimiento," the Sacred Demise. It involves the four purest things known to man: sangre de la virgen (virgin's blood, and lots of it), un recién nacido niño (a newborn child), and two other ingredients not known to any scholar. 

The initiators of this upcoming mass destruction are believed to be the followers of Ch'Nalin, an ancient demon warlord who had slaughtered most South and Central American demon tribes during his reign of terror thousands of years ago, long before any man had habited there. Ch'Nalin's ultimate goal was to destroy the entire world and, with the ceremony that he himself had devised, that was to be the case. But before he could even begin the ritual, he was killed by some of his own soldiers that wanted to live in this world rather than end everything in it. 

Ch'Nalin was a Dr'Gyn demon, the ancestors of the Chaos demon. Of course, not all Chaos demons believe in Ch'Nalin and the end of the world, and not all those who believed in Ch'Nalin and the end of the world were Chaos demons. 

The way to tell a Ch'Nalin demon was by the coin they carried. All followers must keep the "Sacred Talisman" in order to see and live past the end of mankind. The coin had two markings on it, an eye shrouded in flames one side and an angel bleeding rivers on the other. 

Fortunately for Giles, when he had cornered Chuck the untamable beast, the demon just so happened to carry the talisman in his overcoat pocket. But before the Watcher could get his hands on the gold coin, Chuck had knocked Giles unconscious with a flick of his hand and ran, knowing its cover had been blown.

This so-called "sacred event" targets a certain day: July 14th, 2002, somewhere in Southern California.

And all because of this, he was back in Sunnydale. 

Giles decided that once he checked out his luggage and all that, he would take a swing by the Magic Box. . . you know, to see the old place. 

Only a hero could stop the ceremony and he prayed to God that the Slayer was the Chosen One that could. 

He'd taken a leap of faith on this, that he was sure of. 

'Just hope you don''t screw this one up, Ripper.'

****************

"Remind me why I'm driving to L.A.," Spike asked through clenched teeth. He, against his own will (being punched in the nose), was stuck being the chauffeur to the Slayer and her Scoobies (sans Anya and Xander). Buffy had shotgun ("I called it!") while Willow, Tara, and Dawn were crammed into the backseat of the DeSoto. New Magic Box employee Chad was left in charge of the store until the gang got back.

"We're going to the hospital first," Buffy replied, turning on the radio. As if to torture the driver, the first song they heard was a nice Britney Spears ditty, to which the girls replied by merrily singing along. Spike would have none of it.

"Do you want to make it there alive?" he threatened the singers. They all nodded. "Then shut the bloody hell up!!" He slammed his hand on the radio, causing it to shut off.

"Oh, you're no fun anymore," Dawn whined. Similar groans followed.

"I'll ask that one again. . . why are we going to the hospital and L.A.?"

"Well. . . I talked to Wesley and. . ." She paused to find the most gentle way of putting it, but could not. "It's the end of the world."

"Again?!" All the members of the car cried out.

"How?"

"When?"

"Where?"

"Why?"

"All very good questions," the Slayer answered to the outbursts. "Hey! That's the turn. Go left!" She slapped Spike upside the head to get him to do her bidding. In response, the vampire violently swerved left, sending in all his passengers to lean sharply right.

"Watch it!" Dawn screamed, becoming the one smashed into the door.

"Sorry ''bout that, Nibblet," Spike apologized. 

"What about the end of the world?" Tara asked, straightening herself out.

"It's kinda complicated. . . turn right!"

Spike complied with another vicious swerve, now making Willow the squished. 

"It's in the form of a ceremony. It needs the four most purest things in the world. . . it had a fancy name. . . Anyway, it translates to the ''Sacred Demise.''"

"Heard of it. . ." Spike replied halfheartedly. "Has something to do with virgins and newborn babies and all those other precious things that make me want to heave. Except the virgins."

"You're a pig."

"How long did it take you to figure that one out, Slayer?"

"Not long." 

It was Willow's turn to cut in. "Still doesn't answer the question though, Buffy. Why do we have to go to Los Angeles?"

"Well. . . legend has it, that only a hero, assuming that's me, can stop the ceremony, thus saving the world and we all live happily ever after. . . sort of."

"Assuming that''s you?" Dawn asked apprehensively. 

"Assuming that's me," she repeated.

"As fascinating as all of this is, love, we're here." Spike turned everyone's attention to the scenery: Sunnydale General Hospital.

***************

"Hey, Anya," Buffy gently said, opening the door to Xander's hospital room. Xander lay comatose in the bed while Anya sat in a chair beside him, holding his hand. Doctors had wrapped Xander''s forehead wound in white bandages that were now stained with red blood.

"How's our little trooper?" Willow followed in carrying flowers and "Get Well" balloons.

Anya had a weak, forced smile on her face as she turned her head to the oncoming visitors. "They say he could come out of it anytime now."

"You should be happy," Dawn piped.

"Well . . . Those people in the white lab coats said that he hit his head pretty hard. . ." She stifled back the burning tears. "One of three things could happen. . ." 

Anya sighed heavily. "One, he could have amnesia, completely forgetting about me and everyone else, including himself. . ."

"The second. . ." Buffy said.

"He could wake up, remember who he is, who we all are and lead a semi-normal life. But the risk of relapse is very, very high. Very."

"And the third?" Willow asked with hope in her voice.

"The third. . ." Anya sighed heavily. "The third thing. . . is that he could become delusional. . . see things that aren't there. . . a mental case."

"In a manner of speaking, he could be the human male version of Drusilla," Spike noted. Anya nodded, though she had no idea who he was talking about. Her lower lip began to quiver. 

When she regained her strength, she continued. "He''ll never be the same, that''s for sure. His brain was scrambled like an egg."

"Head injuries have a way of doing that," Spike added. 

"Shut up!" Anya snapped. "This is all your fault!"

"It. . . it's really not all his fault, Anya," Tara meekly said, fearing repercussion.

Before Anya could push this argument to a heated debate, a groan escaped Xander''s lips. He was awake.

"Xander!" Anya cheerily cried out, now fighting back tears of joy.

"Huh. . . what. . ." Xander painfully opened his eyes due to the sharp light of the fluorescent bulbs. "Where am I?"

"Dawn," Buffy gestured to her sister, "Go get a doctor." Her sister nodded and ran out the door.

"Hey Xand," Willow called to her waking friend. "You okay?"

"Good to have you back, whelp," Spike said with a smile creeping on the corner of his mouth. When he got strange looks from the other people in the room, the smile disappeared. "What? I can''t care?"

"Ah, Mr. Harris, I see you've decided to join us," a tall man with pepper hair and a white lab coat entered the room followed by an excited Dawn. "And a good thing too. A few more hours and you probably would never have woken up."

"That's a comforting thought," Xander joked as he adjusted himself to an upright sitting position.

"Sounds like you''re back to your old self," the doctor wisecracked as he picked up the clipboard at the foot of the bed. "But I''m going to have to run some tests to see if you haven''t suffered any mild brain damage."

"Me? Drain bamage? Unpossible."

"Funny thing is, doc, he talks like that on a regular basis," Spike quipped.

Xander gave the comedic vampire a scowl. "Har har," he mumbled.

"Full name?" the doctor began.

"Alejandro Leonard Harrison," Xander replied. The doctor chuckled as the patient then responded with his real name.

"How many fingers do you have?" 

"Eleventeen," came the answer. "Ten."

"Who''s the President of the United States?" 

"That first Bush," Xander said matter-of-factly. "Or is it the second one?"

"Wow," the doctor said in mild shock. "Not many people know that one. Or care to believe it." After scribbling a few notes on the clipboard and placed it back down on the edge of the bed, he made an announcement. "Well, Mr. Harris, you seem to know where you are and who you are. You should be out of here in about three days. Just to make sure you don't go into any kind of relapse." The doctor then left the patient with his friends.

"I'm amazed at your strength, whelp," Spike complimented. "You took a pretty big hit to the noggin."

"I am too," Xander responded. "No thanks to that slime ball either."

"It's not Chad's fault!" Anya screamed, causing Xander to cringe from the loud noise. 

"Chad?" A voice from outside the door asked. "Anya, how many times did I tell you not to hire demons that are not currently ex-ones?" The voice became a person in the doorway. 

"Giles!" Dawn happily cried out as she leapt into the newcomer's arms. Buffy was next to embrace the Watcher. The Slayer would never admit it, but she tried with all her might to fight oncoming tears. Willow then slammed into Giles with great force and open arms. Tara, being the kind one, waved happily from where she had been standing.

"What's with the sudden intrusion, Rupert? You find out about the Great Apocalypse headed our way?"

Giles had been thrown off guard by Spike's question. He'd come all this way, flying thriteen hours of pure hell, to find that they already knew about the Sacred Demise. He wanted to cry.

"You. . . you already know?" 

"Sorry to say so, Ripper, but yeah."

Xander, who was in the dark about the whole thing, spoke up. "Wait a sec. . . what Apocalypse? Don't tell me the world's ending again!" The room nodded to the injured one. "Son of a bitch!"

"My thoughts exactly," Giles said in reply. "Could you please let go now? Breathing's become a bit of an issue." All the girls let go at once.

"That's sort of. . . uh. . . why we came here in the first place, Xand," Buffy began sheepishly. "We''re going to L.A."

"L.A.?!" Xander screamed. He grabbed his wound in pain. "Why L.A.?"

"That's where it's supposed to happen," Tara answered.

"You're going without me? We''re a team! You have to take me!"

"Xander," Anya whispered. "You heard what the doctor said. . ."

He refused her comfort. "I don''t care what that crackpot said. . !" Without warning, Xander''s face went blank and pale and he lay very, very still. He made no movements for several moments. 

"Xander? Xander!?" Anya hollered, trying to bring him back.

"The moon will break. . ." Xander whispered, almost inaudibly. The voice he spoke in didn't even sound like his own, but as if it was someone else speaking using his vocal chords. "The moon will break and the sky will weep."

"What the hell's he saying?" A confused Anya inquired.

"He's trying to communicate with us," Willow observed. "Though not very well."

"Monsters are heading for the angels," the message continued. "They want to bleed the Mother Earth and kill all her children." Xander batted at the air in front of him like he was slapping someone. "Quiet, Miss Edith, you'll ruin the boy's message."

"Miss Edith?!" Spike shouted, leaping into the air from total shock. "No. . . bloody. . . way."

"Who's Miss Edith?" Tara asked.

Before Spike could answer, which he didn't plan on doing anyway, Xander broke free from the trance. He was visibly shaking. "What. . . the. . ." He passed out.

No one knew what to say or do. They were just as dumbfounded as Xander had been moments before he fainted. 

"You're all going to L.A.?" Giles tried to change the tone of the room minutes after the fainting. Buffy wordlessly nodded. 

"Can I hitch a ride?"


	7. I Think He's Lost It

Author's Note: Okay, in the process of rereading chapter 6, I noticed a few errors in Giles' flight times and such. . . just ignore them. 

A/N 2.0: If you've read the reviews. . . yes my mother actually posted. See. . . now this is a fanfic even a mother can love. But I'm not exactly sure if that's a good thing. 

A/N 3.0: Reviewing of this crazy tale would be very much kindly of y'all. 

A/N 4.0: I'll shut up now and get on with it. . . 

*******

Spike thanked whatever god would listen that he had never taken up a bus driving career. He knew the instant those irritating little brats got on his nerves, he would've crashed that bus into the nearest gorge.

Just like he wanted to right now.

Dawn had moved to the middle front seat to accommodate new passenger Giles, who now had Dawn's seat in the back. Anya had decided to stay behind with Xander and the Magic Box because we all know that Chad couldn't run the store all by himself.

For the past 25 minutes, Spike felt like a soccer mom toting around a bunch of little babies whining about how uncomfortable they were or how tired they were getting or how they had to go to the bathroom three minutes after they had left the rest stop.

As Giles had so eloquently put it, this was the road trip from Hell.

"Is this a beer bottle?"

"Can I turn on the radio?"

"Are you sure this is the right way?"

"I think I have a headache. . ."

"Can you roll down a window? I'm hot!"

All the griping and fussing and complaining was taking a toll on the driver's sanity. He went berserk.

After the last whimper, something inside Spike's head snapped. He pulled the DeSoto to the side of the road with a screeching halt. 

With an angry cry, he slammed his head against the steering wheel. "Do you people even know the meaning of 'shut the bloody hell up?!'" No answer came from the shocked passengers. "I thought not."

"Can I turn on the radio?" Dawn asked again, calmer than before.

"NO, YOU CAN'T TURN ON THE RADIO!"

"I think he's lost it," Willow uttered.

"You're damn right I've lost it. For the past half hour you annoying little buggers have been doing nothing but crying and whining and DRIVING ME INSANE!!"

"Like mother, like son," Buffy cracked.

"Ha. . . bloody. . . ha."

"While we're on the topic of insanity," Tara implored, "What was that thing about Xander and Miss Edith? W-who's Miss Edith?"

Spike still didn't raise his head from the steering wheel. "Miss Edith. . . she's a. . . how do you say. . . a doll." He was glad that he couldn't blush because at that moment his face would've been a deep crimson.

"You freaked out over a _doll?_" All members of the car erupted into laughter. Even Giles. And this wasn't helping Spike's rage cool any. 

Tara was the first to come down from the laughter high.

"Why would Xander slap a doll that isn't even there? It doesn't make any sense."

The vampire's grip on the steering wheel got tighter. His knuckles were beginning to turn white. "Xander wasn't the one slapping the doll, witch. It was the owner."

"Pray tell, O Wise One, who exactly is the owner?" Dawn asked.

Spike didn't want to say. He didn't even like to think about it. He didn't like the fact that the one who had made him into a vampire, and broke him like a child, was slowly but surely reentering the very world that she herself had shattered into a million pieces. It bothered him a great deal. The last time they tried rekindle their century old romance it didn't exactly pan out so well. She, the first true love of his unlife, "couldn't even save him now." He was a lost cause. Past the point of no return. Sometimes just hearing her name made his temperature drop a few degrees more. Just a few.

"Drusilla," he flatly replied after a few moments of bracing himself. 

The name got mixed reviews. A "Who?" from Tara; a "Not that lunatic!" from Buffy; an "I guess it makes sense" from Giles; a "Why Xander?" from Dawn and a "How'd she do it?" from Willow. 

"I don't know," Spike answered to Dawn's question. "But if I know her correctly, and I know I do, she doesn't just pick her victims at random. Take me for instance." No reply. "Okay, okay. What I'm trying to say is. . . If Dru's got her eye, or rather her mental eye, on someone it's probably for good reason. Maybe the whelp's got a bigger role to play than he's letting off."

"What role?" Dawn questioned.

"I don't know. Princess was always kinda cryptic like that. Comes with the lunacy, I suppose."

"As much as I appreciate the clarification of Xander's possible madness," Giles spoke up. "Do you mind if we get going before the road ahead of us turns into hellfire?"

Reluctantly, Spike lifted his head from the steering wheel. He sighed. "Watcher's right. Now, quit the whining or I crash this thing into a ditch and take you all with me. Got it?"

"Got it."

Once they were back on the road, Spike's coherence slowly trickled back into his brain. "Go ahead, little bit, turn on the radio." With a happy leap, Dawn turned the dial on the dashboard. 

"Don't you think this is a bit much?" Giles asked about the song that came on. Everyone in the car, excluding Giles and including Spike, was singing along to "It's the End of the World As We Know It." 

" 'It's the end of the world as we know it. . . and I feel fine!' " the singing quintet answered. 

"I think it's a little out of taste," the Watcher complained again as he crossed his arms.

" 'It's time I had some time alone. . .' "

********

All Cordelia wanted right now was a nice, comfortable nap with a warm blanket and a soft pillow. What she got was a headache; an ear-splitting, mind-blowing headache that nearly knocked her unconscious.

"You have got to be kidding me!" she bellowed as the blackness that threatened to consume her slowly subsided. "I thought those painful ones were gone forever! No offense," she said as she attempted to stand up again, "but the Powers That Be _suck_!" She fell down. "Eh heh. . sorry!"

"Cordelia!" Angel called, noticing her on the floor. "What's wrong? What happened?" He picked her up by the abdomen and got her on her feet again. "Was it a vision?"

"No, I just happen to like lying on the floor and grasping my head. Of course it was a vision!" 

Angel stared at her with a look that he thought said "What was it?" Cordelia apparently didn't get it. "What? Do I have something on my face? It's my hair, isn't it?"

"What was the vision, Cordy?" Angel asked, almost impatiently.

Cordelia let out a long "ooh" sound. "If I remember correctly. . . a car."

"A car?"

"Yes, a car."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Cordy shrugged. "I guess it means it brings trouble or danger or something. I just get the message, Angel, not the play-by-play interpretation. Now get me some aspirin."

After Angel had left the lobby, Cordelia sat back down again and rested her forehead in her palm. "A car. . . of all the things. . . why a car. .?"

Faith walked into the lobby to find Cordy with her head in her hands. "What's your deal?" 

"Visions," Cordy mumbled. She wasn't in a conversing mood at the moment.

The Slayer didn't know what to say. Couldn't exactly sympathize with the ex-cheerleader. Made her glad that her Slayer powers didn't entail mind-numbing visions. Faith then patted Cordelia on the shoulder in the most comforting way she could muster. Comfort had never really been her strong suit. She then turned and went to the kitchen.

"Man, I need me a soda," she said to no one in particular as she reached to grab a Coke can from the fridge. Conveniently enough, it was right next to the blood. A shiver went down Faith's spine and she closed the fridge door, soda-less. 

'Poor gal,' Faith thought as she once again laid her eyes upon the pained Cordelia. In another attempt at comforting the woman in anguish, Faith sat down beside her ever so carefully as to not disturb the throbbing headache Cordelia was obviously having. "How you feeling?"

"Five by Five," Cordelia imitated, voiced muffled by her hands. 

Faith could only laugh.

*********

"There's the turn-off," Buffy said, pointing out the window to show what she meant. But Spike drove right past it.

"What the hell are you doing?!" she fumed. "Our exit was back that way, you idiot!"

"Sorry, pet. I have to. It's a tradition."

"Tradition?! What the hell kind of trad-" Her ranting was cut off by the violent lurch forward the DeSoto had just made. Spike had just run the car through the "Welcome to Los Angeles" sign.

"All right!" Spike called out victoriously. "55 city signs in 45 states! That's gotta be a record of some kind!"

"Has that chip fried your brain one too many times or have you finally gone off the deep end? You could've gotten us killed! Now go back the right way or you're gonna be having a decorative redwood sticking out of your chest!"

"I thought that was fun," Dawn added. Spike patted her on the head like a proud parent.

"Shh!" Buffy hissed. "You have no say in this." She pointed at Spike, a threatening glare in her eye. "Now go!"

"Yes, dear." Tara, Willow and Dawn laughed at Spike's last comment. Giles chuckled secretly, covering his mouth with a hand.

Twenty minutes later, the gang arrived at their destination. Naturally, they would've made it there a whole lot earlier if Spike hadn't made a few wrong turns (each in turn got their own slap upside the head). With a brutal halt that sent each member of the car to jerk forward, the DeSoto had parked itself outside of the Hyperion Hotel. 

Willow had something on her mind that had been bothering her since they left Sunnydale. "Giles. . . how did you know we were at the hospital? You don't know us _that_ well, do you?"   
"I don't," Giles said as he stepped out of the right side of the car. "I went to the Magic Box first. Would you believe my surprise when I walked in the store to find a giant Chaos standing at the counter, waiting to cater to my every magical need." He shut the door after Tara got out. "He informed me, after I tried to stab him with a pocket knife and failed, that Anya's guy friend had a bit of an accident involving slime and ladders." He shook his head. "I don't even want to know."

Willow, who still remained in the land of cluelessness, let out a little chuckle and shut her door. She pursued the topic no further. 

"Who wants to go in first?" Spike asked the gang as they stood on the steps leading inside. "'Cause I sure as hell am not."

"Wussy. . ." Buffy growled, pushing him out of the way. She grabbed both door handles and swung them wide open, exposing the innards of the Hyperion Hotel for all the world to gawk.

"Oh my God."

************

"CLOWNS!!" Xander hysterically screamed as his eyes shot open. "They're coming to get me!!" He pulled the bedsheets over his head. "Help. . ."

"For God's sake, Xander, there aren't any clowns here to get you!" 

"How can you be sure, Ahn?" His voice trembled with fear. 

"For one thing. . . you're in a hospital."

Xander shook his head. "That means nothing."

Anya stood up, walked to his bed, and pulled the sheets up off of him. Here Anya got her first look at Xander since he had fainted an hour ago. His face had lost all color, he was sweating like a whore in church, his hair was tousled and sticking up from behind the bandage, and his eyes were bloodshot. He was looking a whole hell of a lot worse than he did before. 

"Do you _see_ any clowns here to get you?" she asked the disarrayed patient. Xander shook his head slowly, his lip starting to pout. "There you have it."

"There's something in my head. . ." Xander meekly said, pointing at his temple. "She won't get out."

"Have you lost your mind?" Anya grabbed Xander's head and kissed his forehead, narrowly missing the excruciating wound. "There is nothing in your head. It's just the injury."

After a couple of deep breaths, rationality seemed to return to Xander. "What the hell's happening to me?"

"I've seen this happen before," the doctor from before walked through the already slightly open door. "A person who suffers a brain injury of such magnitude tends to temporarily lose control of their senses. He should be fine, but we going to keep him here longer until he shows signs of recovery. Four days should do it."

"What day is it?" Xander asked in a tame, almost frightful tone.

"July 11th," the doctor replied, jotting some notes onto the clipboard. 

Xander's eyes became the size of dinner plates. "No. . . no. . . you _can't_ keep me here that long! The world will have ended by then! That voice in my head said so!"

The doctor didn't even give Xander a passing glance as he departed the room. "Poor guy. I think he's lost it," the doctor mumbled.

"What voice?" Anya questioned aloud after the doctor had left the room. 

"I don't know. . . but she sounded awfully familiar. . ." 

Something about that statement caught Anya's ear. "_She_? Who's _she_?"

The response was a shrug. "I don't really remember much. . . It felt like someone crawled inside my brain and took control." He looked down at his hands that were still gripping the sheets. "I'm going insane."

Anya stroked the top of Xander's mussed head. "It's okay, sweetie. We all are."

"She kept saying things after I fainted," he said when she removed her hand. "Things about a hero. 'It's not who you think, sweet child.' Her voice was so sweet, so tempting. Like a seductress." He looked deep into his sweetheart's eyes and saw pure and utter confusion. "I need a nap-nap."

"You do that." Another rub on the scalp and Xander was out like a light. 

"Clowns. . ." he sleep-talked. "Coming to get me. . ."


	8. Signs You Know You're In California

Author's Note: Man, I didn't think it would take this long to finish the chapter. Well... Now that I'm on Spring Break, I can finally get some work done around here. Oh yeah... Reviews, reviews, reviews!!!! Did I mention I'd like some reviews? I think I did.   
  


*******  
Spirits at Angel Investigations were teetering on the brink of insanity. Some had their noses buried in ancient books to find any more details about the Sacred Demise. Others were cleaning and preparing the weapons for some serious battle time. 

Lorne took the role of supervisor, which mainly consisted of sitting around, sipping at a Seabreeze and telling other people what to do. Cordelia was not happy with his share of work, or lack thereof.

"Get off your scaly green ass and do something for a change!" she yelled as she took out a broadsword and handed it to Angel, who then put into a large black bag. 

"You misunderstand, sweet cheeks," he said as he gulped down the last of his drink. "I am doing something."

"Sitting on the couch barking orders at people who are actually trying to do something about this Apocalypse is not considered doing something!"

"How come he gets to be supervisor?" Angel demanded. "I want to sit on my ass and yell at people."

"You already do that. Lorne's just giving you a break," Gunn interjected, putting a large axe into Angel's large black bag. The vampire pouted and zipped up the now-full bag. 

"Here's something interesting," Fred called out, reading from a book she had been researching from. "It says here that in order for the ceremony to take place, three events must occur. The first: A massive earthquake."

"Well, that we can't exactly prevent," Faith added. She rubbed the edge of a sword blade with a rag. 

"True," Fred replied, then continued with the passage. "The second. . . The Sacred Eye will engulf itself in white-hot flames."

"Can't prevent that either," Faith once again added, then placed the now-shiny sword into the second bag o' weapons. "Whatever it is."

"The final event. . . well that's a bit odd. The final event. . . rivers of blood must spew from the bowels of the angel." Fred shut the cover of the tome. 

Cordelia made a face of disgust. "Can we say morbid?"

"Amen to that," Gunn replied. He made a face similar to Cordelia's. 

"You said the events take place a week before the whole thing goes down?" Angel inquired, ignoring his colleagues' comments of revolt.

"Mm-hmm."

"When's it supposed to come about?"

Wesley cut in. "According to the calculations of Aedius the Insane, it's to take place. . ." He looked down at the notes he'd been taking throughout his research. ". . . Fourteen days into the month of Julius, one year after the second millennium." Wesley looked up from the paper. "In other words, July 14th, 2002."

"Today's the 11th," Lorne threw in. 

"And have any gigantic earthquakes happened in the past week?"

Wesley gave Angel a look. "Not that I know of."

"Then there's still a chance that this Aedius guy was wrong. I mean, any guy named Aedius the Insane can't be all that trustworthy."

"For once, he's making sense," Cordelia added.

Wesley pursed his lips, closed his eyes and rested his chin on his chest. "Even if that's true and his calculations are off, we can't ignore the other Apocalyptic signs that have been showing themselves in recent days. And the coin Faith found-" Wesley raised the coin from the table and put it down in a fluid-like motion- "doesn't help your theory any."

"So on the 14th, we kick whose ass?" Gunn pondered out of the blue. He then proceeded to perform some karate moves against an invisible opponent.

"Sorry to break it to you, Gunn, be we kick no one's. . . um. . . ass." Wesley turned a faint shade of red after stumbling. "At least not right away."

Gunn stopped his Bruce Lee impressions. He appeared disappointed. "Why not?"

Fred broke in. "Because the hero's the only one who can break the protective barrier once the ritual begins. Once he, or she, does that. . . Then we can fight to our heart's content."

Faith hopped up onto the research counter. "Which prompts the question, Who's the hero?" 

"XANDER!!" 

All eyes focused Cordelia's way as she collapsed like a rag doll onto the floor. Her hands were grasping her head and she was moaning in pain. Signs of another vision. 

"What's that, like, the second one today?" Faith stayed in her spot atop the counter as the rest rushed to the stricken woman's aid. 

"Xander. . . He fell off a ladder. . . Looks like he's got a head injury of some kind. . ."

"Why am I not surprised?" Angel joked. When he could see that no one was laughing at his jest, he helped Wesley, Gunn and Lorne lift her onto the couch and put her down in a comfortable laying position. Cordelia closed her eyes, as if it would soothe the torment she was now in. 

"When I talked to Buffy, she did tell me that Xander had an accident involving Spike, slime and a ladder." Wesley shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't bother asking."

"Isn't it kind of strange that Cordelia would get a vision *after* Xander hurt himself?" Angel prompted. 

"Maybe it's not the Powers that Be giving her the visions," Lorne suggested. "Maybe it's another outside force. That would explain the pain."

Wesley paused a moment to ponder Lorne's comment. "It's not exactly unheard of."

"But why are they screwing with me?!" Cordelia demanded. "I'm not the only one who has clairvoyance around here."  
  
"And maybe it's not just you getting these visions," Wesley incited. 

"But why me?" Cordelia asked again. 

"Maybe it's someone who knows you have the capability of harboring visions," Fred added.

A loud roaring noise pierced the gang's ears. The roaring was then followed by an obnoxious screeching sound that disappeared as soon as it had began. After several moments of silence, voices could be heard coming from the front steps. One of the voices seemed male and British. "'Cause I sure as hell am not," the male said. The man's comment was immediately followed an irritated female one. "Wussy. . ." the girl mumbled. 

The doors of the Hyperion Hotel swung open to reveal Buffy and her band of faithful followers. The Slayer had her arms still open when a look of horror came across her face. 

"Oh my God," she muttered.

"Buffy, what is it?" Angel fearfully asked.

She shook her head. "Don't you feel that?"

Angel looked down, then around him. "No. . ." But before he could say anything more, the ground beneath him and the rest of the hotel denizens began to shake violently. 

People in the hotel and in the doorway screamed and ducked for cover. Faith leapt off the counter she was on and dodged into the little crevice. Fred, Wesley and Gunn huddled quite compactly under the wooden table near the couch that Cordelia was on. Cordelia, not much for action right now, just placed a pillow over her head in hopes that nothing would hit her. Angel, in a blind panic, grabbed Connor from his bassinet and cradled him into his billowy coat. Lorne just stood where he was, knowing he couldn't really be hurt by any of the falling debris. 

Those in the entryway stood where they were, praying that the awning above them would hold fast. Dawn, being the most jittery of the group, shrieked and bounced into Spike's arms for protection. 

"Well. . . this is a fine how-do-ya-do," Spike commented as the earthquake raged around them all.

******

"I forgot how much fun coloring books were," Xander remarked as he moved the yellow ("goldenrod" it said) crayon across the page. About twenty minutes ago, the kindly nurse had brought him a stack of coloring books and a box of 96 Crayola Crayons from the children's ward. Right now he was working on a picture of a little girl and her doll having a tea party.

"That's nice, sweetie," Anya said with half-interest. She was too absorbed in the "People" magazine she was reading to give her full attention. 

"You really do under appreciate this kind of thing when you're young." Xander looked up suddenly. "Shouldn't you be at the Magic Box?" No answer. "Anya?" She was still reading. "I mean, Chad isn't exactly qualified to run the store all by himself. You never know. . . he could probably lose all the money or what not." 

This got her attention. Anya dropped the magazine from her hands and ran out the door without so much as a "Good-bye." 

For some reason, Xander thought this was hilarious. He didn't know what had possessed him to do such a thing. It was probably the same person who had gotten all the doctors in the hospital think he was a nut job. But for the life in him, he couldn't pinpoint the person that was making him to hear voices and to see things that weren't there (like that doll with curly blonde hair wearing a rose-red dress). Not to mention that vivid nightmare he had about clowns attacking him in his hospital bed. 

Whoever or whatever it was that was in his head, it caused him to be on the extreme edge. Xander wondered if the doctors had given him the coloring books because they thought he had reverted back to a childlike state or just to calm his nerves. Whatever the reason, it was working. The gold crayon went back onto the page and gave life to the doll's hair.   
  


He continued filling in the solid black lines on the page until it was finished. Once he was satisfied with his work, he held the picture up in front of him and took a good, long look. He'd given the girl raven-colored hair and she was wearing a black dress trimmed with red lace. The girl's skin he had made a color less than peach but just slightly more than white. 

The doll sitting across from her looked awfully familiar. The more he looked at the 2D replica. . . 

**It's beginning** 

Xander's eyes widened at the sudden voice in his head. It was her again.

**All signs are beginning to appear**

"What signs?" Xander asked, hoping that the voice would reply.

**The beginning of the end**

**Only you can stop it, Slayer's Knight**

That voice. Definitely British. Xander examined the coloring book picture one more time. He placed the voice in his head with the little girl. The voice. . . The child, the dark ebony hair, the pale skin. . . 

Xander shut his eyes and concentrated on the voice in his head. **Are you Drusilla? ** 

Much to Xander's disappointment, she did not respond. He opened his eyes and cursed. 

Xander glanced at the clock on the wall. It read 6:12 p.m. About eight hours had passed since his accident. He was sure that Buffy and the rest of them were with Angel by now. 

He let out a tired huff and grabbed the remote on his bedside table. The first thing that appeared on the TV was the news which, since there was really nothing else on, Xander decided to watch. The weatherman predicted overcast skies for the next three days and for once Xander believed the guy. While Xander lay there motionless, eyes fixated on the screen, he could've sworn that he felt a jolt but he just set it aside as another factor of his traumatic state of mind. 

Five minutes passed by before an emergency newsflash came on the screen. "7.0 magnitude earthquake strikes the city of Los Angeles" came the message across the bottom of the TV. 

Xander couldn't believe what he was seeing. The message kept rolling and re-rolling with his pupils settled on the words. His mind drifted to his friends. 'Oh, God. What if they were hurt? What if they were trapped? And I'm not there with them!'

Drusilla's words came back to him. *It's beginning. All signs are beginning to appear.* 

'Did she know this was gonna happen?' He shook his head. 'Of course she knew, you lackbrain! She's a Seer!' 

An out-of-breath, seemingly frightened reporter came on screen. "Seismologists are completely baffled by the sudden earthquake. There seems to be no evidence of any plates colliding or slipping."

"No. . ." Xander muttered. "No, of course not. They don't need plates when it's the end of the world."  
  


*****

The quake didn't last all that long, but it did its job quite effectively. All the major highways leading in and out of the city were shut down and phones were of no use. In all, this was one city full of brassed-off people.

The Hyperion Hotel was a wreck but, as Gunn pointed out, it could've been worse even though the power was out. Some trinkets had fallen off of Wesley's desk, which he wasn't too happy about. Giles, unfortunately, had taken a hit to the head from a fallen piece of roof tile and was knocked out for several moments. 

"Signs you know you're in California," Giles grumbled as Fred handed him an ice pack. "One, there's an earthquake." 

"The first event of the impending Armageddon," Fred observed from earlier research.

Giles nodded. "Sign number two. . . You get knocked unconscious. At least in my experience."

Dawn, who had broken from Spike's protective embrace, giggled. "That seems to happen a lot to you, doesn't it Giles?"

"Yes, with hilarious consequences." He placed the pack on the forming wound. 

"What's this about 'the first event?'" asked Buffy. "We already know the Armageddon's headed our way."

"I can answer that one," Wesley broke in. In his hands, he held the last remaining pieces of a broken statue that he couldn't piece back together if he tried. "Three events must occur in order for the Sacred Demise to happen. The earthquake's supposed to reveal the burial place of Ch'Nalin, which is where the ceremony is to take place. 

"The eye ablaze is like a homing beacon for all of Ch'Nalin's followers."

"Like a Bat Signal for all kinds of nasty demons?" Gunn interrupted.

"Uh. . . well . . Actually. . . Yes." Wesley cleared his throat. "The third event, the rivers pouring from the angel, would act like a moat surrounding the grounds where the ritual is to be. To keep out any intruders who mean to stop the Demise from coming to pass."

"My congratulations to you, Wesley," Giles complimented, impressed with the work the former Watcher had done. "You've really done your homework."

"Fascinating, really. I'm hanging on every word," Spike sarcastically remarked. "Hey, Angelus! Where do ya keep the blood around here? I'm starting to feel a bit on the peckish side." Angel sighed. He pointed his thumb in the kitchen's direction, sending Spike off in a flash. 

Buffy noticed an absence in the conversation. "Willow?" she called out, scanning the room for the Redhead. Buffy spotted her in the foyer of the lobby, giving the darker-haired Slayer the evil eye. 

"I don't trust her. . ." Willow repeated softly to herself. Tara grabbed Willow by the arm and walked her away from Faith, hoping to avoid any confrontation. 

"Glad to see you too, Red," Faith reacted with a grin playing her lips. She thought the whole scene had been quite comical. 

Buffy leaned into Angel's ear. "When did she get out?"

"She just got here this morning. Said she was on parole."

"Why's she here?"

Angel tilted his head to one side. "I dunno. I'm guessing she wants some sort of redemption. Fight the good fight and all that jazz. She's probably trying to score some points with the big guy upstairs."

Buffy raised her eyebrow. "Now you promise that she's not going to hurt anyone?"

Angel lifted up his right arm and placed it on his unbeating heart. "Cross my still heart and hope to be dusted."

A smile came across Buffy's face. She patted her hand on the one that was still resting on his chest. "Thank you," she mouthed.

"So," Buffy said as she lightly punched Angel in the arm, "what do y'all do for fun around here?"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. I Thought It Was Supposed To Be A Happy ...

  
  


Author's Note: Boredom and a sugar high off my leftover Easter candy have really done something to my creative process. The plot, slowly but surely, is thickening. It should come to a breaking point sooner than you think... 

A/N 2.0: Now don't forget. . . REVIEWS!!! And thanks to all who have given this story such high praise. Keep up the job of raising my already inflated ego!  
  


*******

Fred walked down the stairs next morning to find the lobby devoid of people. None of the newly arrived guests (or Wesley, Gunn, Cordelia, Angel, and Lorne for that matter) had woken up yet, leaving her all alone. 

Sometime during the night, Fred didn't know when, the power company somehow managed to return power to some parts of Los Angeles. The Hyperion, thankfully, was in one of those lucky areas. 

Fred consulted her watch. 7:45 a.m. 'Hey! I can at least catch the last fifteen minutes of the news.' She plopped herself into a comfy chair and clicked on the TV. Commercials. She grunted and leaned back, causing the footrest to come out of its hiding space in the chair. 

Apparently she had become so comfortable where she was, she didn't notice the person standing behind her holding a glass of orange juice. "Fred, was it?"

The Texan fell out of her chair at the sound of Tara's voice. When Fred looked back up and saw the blonde girl's normally calm eyes looking back in fright. 

"I-I-I'm s-sorry," Tara stuttered, grabbing Fred's hand with her own and helped her up back into the chair. "I-I did-didn't mean to sc-sc-sc. . . frighten you."

Fred dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "Don't fret about it. I've just been so high-strung these past 24 hours with the Apocalypse and all. . ."

Tara smiled. "I understand." The blonde Wiccan watched the pictures moving on the TV for several moments. "Anything interesting?"

The small brunette shook her head. "Unless you find Orange Clean interesting. . . nada."

Tara giggled. She didn't think this shy, reserved person (who was a lot like her in many ways) was capable of cracking jokes in the presence of others. 

A field reporter appeared on the television after a brief introduction from the newscasters in the studio. She was standing in front of an all-too familiar sign. "Tracy Diego here live in Disneyland. Due to yesterday's monumental quake, the park has been temporarily closed. It seems as though the park has suffered small damages. . . but a large. . ." The reporter appeared confused. ". . . crack has split wide open near the statue of Walt and Mickey walking hand in hand." She looked down at the white paper in her hand. "Witnesses say that inside the crack appears to be some sort of ancient tomb-like structure. . . More as it develops. Back to you, Jim and Diane." Fred switched off the TV.

The two girls exchanged frightened and confused looks. "Uh-oh. . ."  
  


******   
  


  
  


"Good morning, Mr. Harris," sing-songed the nurse as she entered Xander's hospital room. With her she carried a tray of assorted food products for his breakfast. He was once again coloring but this time he was drawing something of his own on a blank sheet of white paper. 

"Morning, lady with my food," Xander replied. He looked up from his work of art to greet the food she put at his lap. 

The nurse noticed Xander's freehand drawing. "That's. . . um. . . a. . . an interesting drawing you have there, Mr. Harris."

"Please, refer to me as Xander. Formalities scare me." He looked back down at the paper. "Oh, this? Well. . . It's a work in progress, to say the least."

"What, uh, is it?" The lady asked.

The nurse had every right to be confused. At the lower right corner of the page there was a red eye immersed in blue flames, giving off a beacon-type light. In the center of the paper there was a headless angel shedding blood in streams. The angel's blood seemed to form a moat around the shining eye and a lot of blank space, obviously where Xander needed to do some more work. 

"I honestly don't know," responded Xander. "But it seems like a good piece of work to me."

The nurse backed up to the door. "Enjoy your meal Mr. . . I mean, Xander." The woman quickly stepped out the door and left Xander to his meal and work. 

Xander had to admit, the picture was kind of vile. A bleeding angel and a freaky eye would freak out anybody, especially himself and that lady nurse. 

He had been inspired to draw this after a mental picture he had taken during his dream last night. He knew that Drusilla was trying to tell him something in any possible way she could. The crazy vamp had used him as a voodoo doll and now he was sure she was the one giving him the visionary nightmares. His state of mind had been shot to hell. At this point, he was starting to believe that she had caused Spike to crash into that damn ladder. The more he thought about it, the more that theory made sense. 

'God, Xan-man. You really *are* losing it.' That he also believed to be true. 

For a few moments, he took a good look at the food on the tray the nurse had given him moments before. Was it healthy for the orange juice to have a film layer on it? He didn't think so. Instead, he opted for the glass of water and a bite of his toast, which tasted like cardboard doused in movie theatre popcorn. The taste of it made him sick to his stomach and he threw it back onto the tray. He wasn't hungry anymore.

'Why does hospital food have to taste so bad?' he bitterly thought as he set the tray on the floor next to him. To take his mind off the taste of that substitute toast, he grabbed the black crayon and the remote from the bedside table. 

He flipped on the TV. Commercials. 'Huh. . . that Orange Clean stuff really *does* work. . .' Angry for thinking such a thing, he hit smacked his forehead. Right into the wound. He screamed in agony as the throbbing noise in his ears became louder and near-deafening. 

Xander wanted to cry. He could swear that this world was trying to torture him slowly and painfully. Why didn't this kind of stuff ever happen to Buffy or Willow or Anya? That's right, he reminded himself, you're the Scooby gang buttmonkey. God's hacky-sack, remember? You're the one who gets the funny syphilis and gets put under Dracula's power and nearly gets eaten by Bug Ladies who want to mate with you then bite your head off. And now you're the one who gets the head injury and mentally screwed by the crazy vampiress. 

He looked back onto the screen in time to see a female reporter. "Tracy Diego here live in Disneyland. Due to yesterday's monumental quake, the park has been temporarily closed. It seems as though the park has suffered small damages. But a large crack has split wide open near the statue of Walt and Mickey walking hand in hand. Witnesses say that inside the crack appears to be some sort of ancient tomb-like structure. More as it develops. Back to you, Jim and Diane." 

"Stranger things have happened," he told himself. He didn't give a second thought to the oddity of the news report. 

Xander didn't realize it but as he was watching the television, his right hand (the one that gripped the black crayon) had been busy doing its own thing. It had been drawing in that blank space inside the blood moat. He looked down at the page to see what his right hand had been sketching while his mind was elsewhere.

It was a Mickey Mouse head.

*******

In panic and sudden realization, Fred ran to the phone and dialed furiously. 

"C'mon Wes, pick up," she muttered as she impatiently tapped her foot. "Wesley. . . Pick up the phone. . ." The ringing stopped. Wesley's voice came on the line. Fred's ears perked up, but we're quickly shot back down. "Hello. You've reached the residence of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I'm not in right now. . ." A growl escaped Fred. ". . . leave your name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as possible." *Beep* 

Fred went on a tangent. "God dang it, Wes! Pick up the phone! I know you're still there. Pick up the phone!" No reply. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, pick up the phone right this instant or you're going to be on the receiving end of my Texan wrath!"

Tara was staring at the petite girl in disbelief. She thought she'd had her figured out (the "be-polite-to-everyone" Little Miss Sweetie bookworm). The aura this girl had told Tara a different story than what she was seeing now. Fear always makes people act different, Tara told herself. And a little crazy, as well.

A tired groan came on the line. "Ughh. . . morning Fred. . ."

"About darn time," Fred said in a scolding manner. "I have some big news."

A few clicking sounds on the other end told Fred that Wesley was putting on his glasses. An "ow" told her he'd poked himself in the eye while doing so. "What kind of news?"

"Remember that earthquake yesterday?" Wesley stayed silent. "Of course you do. Anyway. . . Me and Tara were watching the news and. . . They found Ch'Nalin's tomb."

Thud. Fred came to the conclusion that her boss had fallen out of bed from shock. "You okay, Wes?" she asked, genuinely worried that he hadn't hurt himself.

"When?! Where?!" Fred had never heard the Britishman so excited. He sounded like a kid who was told he had complete control of the world's largest toy store for one day. Nay, week.

"They did exactly say *when* they found it. Sometime before this morning, I reckon. But the news isn't when, Wes. It's where."

"Where?!" His patience was obviously wearing thin.

"Disneyland." 

"Pardon?"

"You heard me. Disneyland. You know, 'The Most Magical Place on Earth?' The land created by Walt? Home of Mickey Mouse and friends? Disneyland."

"I know what Disneyland is, Fred. It's just that it makes so much sense."

"Pardon?" 

"I'll be there in five minutes. I'll explain then." Wesley hung up without another word of explanation. 

"Wh-what did he have to say?" Tara asked as Fred walked away from the phone.

Fred shook her head. "That it made sense. Honestly, I sometimes don't know what's going on in that head of his."

Before Tara could respond, a male voice entered the air. It was calm and dark and all-too-familiar around these parts. "Who's head?"

"G'morning, Angel," Fred and Tara said in unison.

"Who's head are we talking about now?" He asked again as he walked into the kitchen and warmed up a bottle of formula for the child in his arms. 

"There was something on the news earlier. Apparently, they found the tomb of Ch'Nalin." Angel didn't move even when the microwave beeped. "But here's the interesting twist. The tomb. . . is in Disneyland."

Angel broke into a fit of laughter. 

"Angel laughing?" a British voice inquired. "Now there's a twist."

The girls just stood there, waiting for Angel to come down from his laughter fit. They paid no mind to Spike's comment. 

"What? No 'good morning' for me?" The blonde vampire didn't bother to take the last of the steps and hopped over the railing. He landed next to Fred. "What's his deal? Has he finally gone off the deep end?"

"I told him that they found Ch'Nalin's tomb in Disneyland and he went berserk. I've never seen him laugh like that before."

A smile came across the younger vampire's face. "You're meaning to tell me that the bloody ol' slimeball is buried beneath the land that Walt built?" Spike crossed his arms after Fred's nod. "Doesn't surprise me."

"Why does everybody keep saying that?" she demanded. "Is there something about this guy I don't know? Was he a fan of Disney's work or what?"

"It's the purity aspect of the thing, bit," Spike replied. "The thing's supposed to take place where he's buried, right? The thing's called the 'Sacred Demise' using the four most pure things in the world. What's more pure than Disneyland, the 'Happiest Place on Earth?'"

Angel stopped laughing out of shock. His mouth was open in the fashion of a fish. "For once, he has a point."

Spike scoffed. "For once. . . Please. . ." 

"What was that horrible shrieking sound I heard?" Buffy groggily asked as she came down the stairs covering her ears, followed directly by Willow. "Oh, hi Angel."

Spike tried ever-so-hard to not burst into a laughter similar to Angel's. It was a tough battle. 

"You seem to be carrying that kid around a lot," Buffy observed. "I hardly see anybody else around here holding him or taking care of him like you are. You're acting like the boy's your own flesh and blood."

Fred squeaked and covered her mouth with her hands. Angel eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as the four Scoobies gave him questioning looks. "I. . . um. . . I just. . . grew quite fond of. . . the little. . . whippersnapper." 

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Whippersnapper?"

"Who's is he, anyway?" Buffy wondered aloud.

"Orphan!" Fred immediately. "We found him. . . in a. . . an alleyway! His mother. . . she, uh, died in childbirth. A client of ours. Very sad." She shook her head in fake sorrow.

Angel furiously nodded in agreement. He was hoping now that Buffy would get off the topic that he had tried to avoid since her arrival. Much to Angel's relief, she did. 

"I'm, uh. . . sorry. I didn't mean to open any old wounds or anything." The blushing feeling on her face said it was time to change the subject before any further embarrassment. 

"Did we discover anything new about the Apocalypse?" Willow asked just as Buffy was about to.

"They found the tomb of Ch'Nalin, the demon warlord, in Disneyland." Fred held up her hand. "Don't. . . don't say it makes sense. I've heard it enough times already."

Buffy gave a puzzled look. "It doesn't make sense to me."

"Me neither," Willow said.

Fred threw up her hands in excitement. "Finally! Someone who's just as clueless about this as I am!"

Buffy and Willow exchanged confused glances. They didn't know if that was a compliment or an insult to their intelligence. "Thanks?"

Wesley burst through the front doors of the hotel. His hair was tousled, like he hadn't had time to comb it. He hadn't tucked in his shirt and his glasses were crooked on his face. A faint hint of a beard was resting on his chin. His face lit up at the sight of Fred. He ran excitedly in her direction.

"Fred. I'm sorry for the lack of explanation, I just didn't have time to tell you over the phone. The whole reason it makes sense. . ."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. It's 'cause the ceremony is to take place where he is buried and the ritual uses the four purest things on Earth and that it just so happens to be in Disneyland, one of the most wholesome places on the planet." She took a breath.

Wesley was speechless. "How'd you know?"

Fred gestured her thumb in Spike's direction. "He told me."

The younger Watcher looked at Spike. "How'd *you* know?"

"Dru was into the whole 'end of the world' thing and had books galore on them. Never really fancied Earth's total destruction myself, but the books were a good read. Somewhere in there was something about some 'Sacred Demise' or what have you." 

Angel was getting an idea. "You said she had books on these type of things." Spike nodded. "So she knew a lot about them?" Another nod. "A *lot* about. . ."

"Bloody hell, man. Get on with it!"

"Cordelia. . . She's been having painful visions recently which, if I remember correctly, are not supposed to happen. Not since her transformation, anyway. Lorne suggested that an outside force might be giving them to her. Then just as Faith asked, 'Who's the hero?' Cordelia screamed and yelled out Xander's name. Can Drusilla give other people visions?"

Spike shrugged. "I dunno. She's good at the mind game thing. So, I'd say yeah. What's your point?"

"The hero is the only one who could stop the ceremony, right Wes?" 

"Right."

"Think Dru knows who it is?"

Spike's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "Of course. Bloody hell! Why didn't I see it before?! That's why she's messing with the whelp!"

"But why Cordelia?" Tara asked. 

"Maybe she's trying to speak with us without having to come face to face," Wesley mentioned.

"Would Drusilla know if she was able to handle visions?" Fred pondered.

"I heard my name," a voice came from the foyer. At the same moment Fred had made the observation, Cordelia had entered the hotel lobby. The hilt of her palm was pressing against her forehead. Her head was still throbbing from the last assault. "What about me?"

"We think we've figured out why your visions are painful again," Wesley responded. 

That brightened Cordelia's dimming mood. "Why?"

"Guys, guys! You'll never guess what I found out!" Gunn dashed into the Hyperion, hysterically yelling and waving a newspaper in his hands. He accidentally ran into Cordelia and sent her tripping down the stairs. "Sorry about that, Cord."

"Watch it!" she screamed. With Fred and Tara's help, she got to her feet again. 

"Geez, I said I was sorry." Gunn kept waving the paper in the air. "I was reading the paper this morning and. . ."

"Let me guess. . . they've discovered a mysterious tomb buried beneath Disneyland?" Gunn nodded at Buffy's question. "Been there, done that."

This was the first time Cordelia had heard the news. "I didn't know about it! Is it the grave of that Chalin guy?"

"Ch'Nalin," Wesley corrected. "And yes, it is."

"Disneyland?!"

"Yes."

"What an odd place to bury a demon. . . Does that mean we're going to Disneyland?"

"Eventually," Wesley replied. "But first we need to know how Xander plays into all this. And why Drusilla is trying to communicate with us."

"Is she the one giving me that painful visions?" 

Angel nodded. "We think so."

Wesley took his role as boss. "Spike, Angel, Gunn. . . Get Lorne and go around to all the demon bars and hot spots asking if they've seen Drusilla around.

"Buffy, you and Faith will go and patrol. Maybe a random demon will accidentally tell you something he's not supposed to.

"Tara, Willow, Fred and Dawn- when she wakes up- will help me do some research. Where's Giles?"

Buffy pointed upwards. "I tried to wake him up earlier. Said he had a serious case of jetlag and needed his rest desperately."

"What about me?" Cordelia demanded. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Stay here with us. We don't know if Drusilla is done trying to tell us something or not. Everybody know what they're doing?" Everyone replied with a nod. "Okay. . . Break!"

  
  



	10. Indiana Jones and the Really, Really Bri...

Author's Note: Another update! I'm so proud of myself! Yay me! Don't forget those reviews!

  
  


*******  
  
"Well, I'm all out of ideas," Lorne announced to his three companions. For the past three hours, the quartet had gone into every demon bar and hot spot they could think of and threatened several snitches with physical violence (some more than once). By noon on this gloomy and overcast day in Los Angeles, they came up empty-handed on Dru's whereabouts. "Any of you got any more thoughts on the crazy girl's location?"

"Color me clueless," Gunn replied as he sat on the hood of the DeSoto.

An idea lit up in Spike's mind. "Wait a minute . . . Who said she was in L.A. at all?"

"Hmm?" the other three said together.

"What are you getting at, Blondie?" Lorne questioned.

Spike pulled out a cigarette from his coat pocket and placed it between his lips. "Last time I checked people, or vampires in this case, with the ability to project thoughts and visions and the like into others don't exactly have to be in the same city as their victim or victims." With a flick of his wrist, the lighter in his hand produced a small flame and lit the tip of the cigarette in his mouth. "She's probably been in Anaheim the whole time, if you ask me."

Gunn choked. "I'm gonna kill English. Sending us out on a wild goose chase for nothing."

"It's not his fault, Gunn," Angel defended. "He was just covering our bases, that's all."

"And we did get to beat up six snitches," Spike added with a wry grin. "Which, you have to admit, was fun." Gunn couldn't help but agree.

"You said she was messing with Vision girl and that Head Injury boy?" Lorne said out of the blue.

Spike nodded. "When we went to see Harris at the hospital yesterday, he was all fine and dandy for a while. Then the whelp bugged out and started talking all nonsensical and Dru-like. He even slapped an invisible Miss Edith. It was like she was him or he was her or . . . I don't know. It was just weird."

Lorne rested his chin on his hand. "It's possible she could've used a temporary mind-switching trick. To be able to get her message out in the open without having to leave the comfort of wherever she is. How long was the boy out cold?"

"I'd say two hours or so. Why?" 

"That's long enough for someone to pull a mind-swapper."

"But it wasn't right away. Harris talked normally, or what he passes off as normal, for the doctor's amnesia test. It was only after the doc left that *bam*!" He slapped his hands together. "He was Drusilla in a man's form." 

"Drusilla was insane, but she wasn't stupid," Angel added. "Probably didn't want to spill the information on unknowing ears."

"You know what's also weird? He just . . . went back to his normal self after a few moments. He was shaking and blubbering, confused as the day he was born." 

"His brain probably couldn't handle such an extreme mental transfer. It probably snapped like a fishing pole line. . ." Lorne snapped at the word to prove his point. ". . . leaving him stranded and bewildered once the whole thing was said and done."

"Here's where I'm confused," Gunn said. "Last time Drusilla was in town, she wasn't exactly Miss 'Let's Help the Good Guys and Save the World.' She was more Miss 'Let's Go Out, Cause Mayhem and Then Maybe Go Eat Some Lawyers.' This is the part that gets me: Why the hell is she trying to help us?"

Before anyone could put in their two cents worth on the topic, a catchy ringing sound pierced the air. 

"Angel. . . your jacket is singing," Spike blandly wisecracked.

For a moment, Angel actually believed his coat could sing and jumped in fright. When he realized Spike was only joking around, he pulled the cell phone out from the breast pocket. "Oh ha, ha." He pushed the button on the phone to activate it.

"But does it have to be the 'Mexican Hat Dance'?" Lorne shook his head sadly. "Honestly, Angel-baby, I thought you had better taste."

"Angel," he said into the phone's receiver. It was at that instant his ear was assaulted by a near inaudible shrieking noise.

"Oh, Deadboy, thank God you're there, I just had an epiphany, well, it wasn't an epiphany as much as I remembered what happened to me when Drusilla first possessed me after I woke up from my coma, I can remember I was sitting there yelling at Anya about how much I don't care what that crackpot said when I had this sudden sensation that I was being sucked into a vacuum, well my mind was being sucked anyway, I don't think that came out the way I wanted it to, and that I blacked out for a moment and that I don't really remember *seeing* anything when that sucking feeling went away as much as *feeling* afraid and scared and trapped, I could swear that it smelled like cotton candy and popcorn and that off in the distance I could hear 'It's a Small World' and I was gripping something tight to my chest like a security blanket, but it wasn't really a blanket, more like a doll and that for a moment I opened my eyes and the last thing I saw before that sucking sensation came back to me was a diorama of Sleeping Beauty's death scene." Xander took a long deep breath. "Anyway I came back and I was like 'What the. . .' and I passed out and I remember I was in a black tunnel-like thing when a voice came to me and said 'The hero is not who you think' or something like that, didn't really make sense at the time, and then I don't really remember much after that except there were clowns attacking me in my hospital bed which I don't think is very relevant at all." Another deep breath. "We gotta go to Disneyland!"

"Xander? How did you get my cell phone number?"

A quiet came over the injured boy. "I don't know! All I know is that we gotta go to Disneyland and that I gotta be there because I'm the only one who can stop the Apocalypse! I'M THE HERO!!"

"Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure, Deadboy. Now GET ME OUTTA HERE!!!"

"When did you figure all this out?"

Angel heard Xander shrug. "I dunno. About a minute ago, I think."

"Call me back in fifteen minutes. Explain to me then."

"Do what you gotta to do and get me out of this place! The doctors won't let me out because they think I've gone insane!"

"I'm starting to believe them," Angel said wryly.

Xander was getting miffed. "I knew there was a reason I didn't like you."

"Calm down, Xander. You'll blow a fuse. I'll let Wesley know about your situation and I'm sure he'll do all he can to get you out."

"I'm hating you 1% less now. Which doesn't make much difference because the tally was like a trillion."

"That's oddly comforting coming from you," Angel replied. He actually meant what he said.

"Consider yourself lucky." 

"I'm gonna take a stab and say that was Xander," Lorne quipped as Angel put his phone back in his jacket.

"Good stab," the elder vampire replied. "He's discovered he's the hero, with the help of our favorite lunatic vampiress." Angel flipped the latch on one of the DeSoto's back doors only to find it locked. "And you were right, Lorne. It was a mind-transference. But I'm thinking it was a one-time deal because of the trauma it caused him."

Spike blew smoke from his mouth and nostrils. "When did Dru start caring so much about Special Ed and his well being, anyway? The only time she ever knew he existed was when he cast that bloody love spell and every girl in town fell in love with him." He shook his head. "I think she still has yet to tell us something major. Namely why she's helping us in the first place. Time was she would get front row seats for the 'End of the World Extravaganza,' not try and avert it."

"Maybe she's tricking us," Gunn noted. "Leading us down the wrong path, throwing the dogs off the scent. Sounds like the Big Bad thing to do."

Spike flicked the cigarette from his hand to the ground and crushed it with his boot heel. He had been biting the insides of his cheeks in thought. "No. . . That's not it. I believe she's genuinely trying to help us. What's bothering me is *why.*"

"Chauffeur!" Angel cried, banging his hand on the DeSoto's roof. "Can we get moving here? I'd like to get back to the Hyperion and tell the gang about Xander, pronto!"

Spike gave his grandsire an icy stare. "Where do you get off calling me 'chauffeur'?"

Angel returned the icy stare. "I'm your superior, that's why."

Lorne intervened. He didn't want any kind of family dispute to occur. "Boys, boys. Let's stop the fussin' and the fightin' and the bickerin' and go home." He reached out his arms pushed the two in the direction of the car, sending Spike toward the driver's side and Angel to the back. 

"Some superior you are, Peaches. At least I don't go around knocking up ex-girlfriends that were brought back from the dead by evil lawyers!"

Angel froze where he stood. Spike knew he had won with that one. "How. . . How did you know. . ."

"Like it isn't so bleedin' obvious! The way you and Mousy were covering the kid's origins back there I'm surprised Buffy didn't figure it out on the spot. I've seen better lies come from the Cheerleader."

"How did you know Darla was his mother?" Angel was still in complete shock at Spike's sudden observation and the stutter in his voice showed it.

"Kid's got her eyes," Spike replied casually. His tone changed immediately. "Now don't call me 'chauffeur' or 'Jeeves' or Buffy will be finding out about the womb in which your son came from post haste." He patted the top of his car. "C'mon, now. Let's do what the Poofter says! Everyone, in the car!"

  
  


******

The four males walked into the hotel to find a crowd of busy bodies flurrying about books and maps. Buffy and Faith were back from patrolling, obviously information-less. Willow was the first to notice their entrance.

"Find anything?" she asked as she turned the page of an old text.

"Funny you should mention it. We didn't find the information you were looking for . . . It sort of found us."

Wesley's ears perked at Angel's comment. He looked up from the map of Disneyland he had been studying. "How so?"

A thudding sound came from Cordelia's direction. She had once again collapsed over in the heat of an overwhelmingly painful vision.  


"She falls down a lot," Faith pointed out as she bit into a potato chip.

"Adventure Land. . . the Indiana Jones ride. . . really, really bright blue light," Cordelia managed to get out between groans of pain. Angel, Wesley and Gunn ran to her aid and lifted her onto the couch they had carried her to before. Dawn ran to get the aspirin.

"What was it that you saw, Cordy?" Wesley asked after he had made sure she was laying comfortably.

"I told you. 'Adventure Land . . . the Indiana Jones ride . . . really, really bright blue light.' You're the brains of this operation. You figure it out."

"The beacon," Giles blurted out. "It's the beacon. It has to be."

Willow's eyes lit up. "Of course! The ride. . . It's got another name. Not just the 'Indiana Jones' ride. Uh. . . Something like the Forgotten. . . no. . . Forlorn. . . that doesn't make any sense. . ."

"The Forbidden EYE!" Gunn hollered. Willow hopped up and down excitedly and pointed her finger at Gunn.

"Why didn't we see it before?" Wesley took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt cuff.

"We didn't know what kind of eye to look for in the first place," Fred answered. Wesley put his glasses back on.

"Hey Angel," Buffy said. "When you said information 'found you,' what exactly did you mean?"

Angel looked at Buffy for a few moments with a confused look on his face. Then he realized what she was talking about. "Oh! Oh, that. Um. . . yeah. Well. . . just as we were about to come back to the hotel with nothing new to report, my cell phone rang."

"Angel? I really must talk to you about your choice in ring tones."

"Not now, Lorne. The caller, it was Xander." Those who weren't out on the street with Angel gave him dumbfounded looks. 

"How'd he get your number?" Wesley asked.

"Beats me. The kid was freaking out, going on and on about Drusilla switching his mind with her own and telling him later on that he was the hero."

Cordelia guffawed. "Xander?! Since when did he become the hero type?"

"Sometime yesterday, I estimate. From what I understood from his rant, and believe me there wasn't much I could, Drusilla's one step ahead of us."

"In what way?" Giles asked.

"She's already at the park. Been there since yesterday or even before then. From what Xander remembers of the mind-switching ordeal, Dru's apparently holed up in Sleeping Beauty's castle. He said he felt afraid and scared and he was clutching something that he thought could be a doll. I don't think Xander was the one who was frightened. I'm thinking it's her."

A stifled laugh came from the doorway. "And what do you have to say about all this?" Buffy impatiently asked.

"Being the resident Drusilla expert 'round these parts, I think I should say something here." Spike's eyes were settled on the cloud-covered sky. "It takes a whole hell of a bloody lot to scare her into hiding like that."

"Not really. . ." Angel said slowly.

"Okay, okay. I'll admit, she spooks easily. Comes with the madness and the seeing. But no Apocalypse in the 118 years we were together ever scared her like this. The Armageddon was usually her cup of tea, you know? She was extremely brassed off when the Judge thing fell through and she went so far as to attack me when I was helping to stop the Acathla ceremony." He shoved his hands into his duster pockets. "Unless. . ." Spike grew silent and kept staring at the sky.

"Unless what?" Dawn enquired of the gazing vampire. The rest of the group had been wondering the same thing.

"Unless. . . She's all protective. Something, or someone, is so special to her that it is more important than the destruction of the Earth." Spike let out another laugh. "I'm surprised she chose Sleeping Beauty's castle as her retreat. Dru was always a fan of Snow White, if I remember correctly."

"What?!" Every voice in the room asked in unison.

"Yeah. She liked the fact that Snow White was pale and had black hair and had dark crimson lips. Let us not forget she had dwarven slaves to do her bidding. Kept telling me that Snow White was one of our kind. For weeks after we saw the movie, she thought she *was* Snow White. Why do you think I called her Princess?"

"I'm a Cinderella fan myself," Buffy commented out of nowhere.

"Sleeping Beauty for me," Dawn added.

"I always pretended I was Belle," Fred stated, holding the book she had in her hands close to her chest.

"Jasmine kicked ass!" Cordelia cried out. "She didn't take crap from nobody!"

Willow flipped her hair. "I thought I looked a lot like Ariel. It's a red-head thing."

"Ursula appealed to me." The other girls gave Faith a questioning look. "Her human form, I mean. She was the Queen Bitch of them all."

"Alice was cool," Tara said. "I know she wasn't a princess. . . But she was still cool."

Giles cleared his throat to get their attention. "This is all well and good and I'm a better person knowing who your favorite Disney Princesses are but could we get back onto the topic still in progress?" Giles shifted his attention to Spike, who still had his back turned to everyone. "Who would she be protecting?"

"Do you think I'm a bloody mind reader? I don't know!" Spike shifted his weight from the left foot to the right and crossed his arms in the process. "All I know. . . Actually, that's about all I'm near sure of right now."

"What's got your attention right now, boyo?" Lorne walked up behind Spike and peered over his shoulder. Spike replied by pointing northwards.

"Now there's a sight to see. . ." Lorne mumbled when he noticed what Spike had been enthralled with for the past five minutes.

The whole lot of them gathered up behind the two demons and craned their necks to catch sight of the image in the sky.

"What is it?" Dawn asked in awe.

"It's so. . . shiny. . ." Gunn said stupidly.

". . . and glowy. . ." Fred continued.

". . . and blue. . ." Faith finished.

"What is it?" Dawn asked again.

"Dude! That's the light from my vision!" Cordelia exclaimed.

"That beacon's got some good range," Lorne quipped.

"It needs to call every Ch'Nalin demon in the world," Giles responded. "It needs to have good range to get the whole bunch of 'em."

"Does this mean this ceremony's getting closer by the minute?" Buffy inquired.

Wesley nodded. "We better get working. We want to be in Anaheim before every Ch'Nalin demon on Earth beats us to it."

"But don't we need Xander?" Willow pondered. "Can't exactly stop this thing without the hero himself."

"He said the doctors won't let him out. They think he's lost his mind," Angel said.

"If Dru was in my head I'd have lost it too," Spike remarked.

Wesley was the first to step away from the crowd. "Getting Xander safely to Los Angeles is our first priority. But getting him out is the problem. Doctors usually keep a close eye on mental patients, which Xander seems to have become in their eyes."

"Any ideas, Wes?" Angel asked without breaking his eye contact with the beacon.

Wesley stood there a moment. "Well. . . There is one. . ."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. Cordelia Chase: The 142 Year Old Crazy V...

Author's Note: Hey y'all. Feels like I'm getting pretty close to the end, doesn't it? Well, think again buster. There should be at least four more chapters before this tale of discord and mayhem is all said and done.

A/N 2.0: In the second and third part of the chapter, there may be a bit of name confusion. Cordelia becomes Drusilla and vice versa. . . you'll know when you get there.  
  
A/N 3.0: Sorry it took so long for another update. I was on a band trip and just didn't have enough time to post. Now here it is for your reading enjoyment.

********  
  


The floor was cold, the tower was cold, the park was cold, the world outside her was cold, those demons that are coming are cold, her skin was cold (which couldn't be helped), the doll between her hands was cold. Everything was dreadfully freezing and she didn't like it one bit.

The tips of her nails were caked with her own flesh and blood. Because she was so cold and trapped and frightened and the pixies' voices she so often heard in her head were getting louder and echoing off the stone walls that she began ripping the skin right off the bone in a fit of frenzy. She was going stir crazy. Funny thing, that. She was *already* crazy. 

She hated being caged like those pretty animals at the zoo. She'd always like the tigers. They way they paced back and forth and back and forth and. . . it had always hypnotized her the way she had the ability to over her victims. Those tigers at the zoo hummed with power, dripped with majesty. But she never wanted to be them. The locked-up ones, anyway. She couldn't imagine what it was like having so much energy and life and color just to be locked away by those naughty zookeepers. To be gawked at by voyeurs who don't understand you. More than once, Spike had to stop her from leaping over that velvet rope and setting those tigers free. As much as he would have enjoyed the chaos and havoc a loose tiger would bring by its freedom alone, he didn't want to see his sweetheart mauled if one of those tigers decided that she would make a tasty meal.

Right now, she neither a free tiger nor the ones at the zoo. She felt like a rat who had lost its mind and was about ready to bite off one of its arms in order to get free.

But she couldn't leave. No. . . this place was a safe haven, if there was one to be found here. If she even stepped outside the confines of the castle, they would know she was trying to interfere and have her killed.

Then she couldn't save Little Brother. 

Those nasty demons who were going to end the world in two days didn't understand the importance of Little Brother. All they cared about was their silly Sacred Demise. In order to ensure the future of Little Brother she had to make sure that he was protected. Even if that meant helping the Slayer.

A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips. She lifted her chin from her chest and looked up at the gleaming sight on the wall in front of her. For several minutes, she focused her view on the glass, eyes never blinking or wandering. Just. . . looking.

They were so close to figuring it out. Especially her Spike. A clever one he always was. They just needed to figure out one more thing. . .

She gently closed the lids of her eyes and let her mind wander. She felt like she was floating in the sky, dancing on the edges of the sun-deprived clouds, hovering over the vast city of tall buildings and honking cars until. . .

There! She mentally swan dived toward the building she had been searching for and, without any barrier of concrete or stone at all, ended up in the lobby, seemingly unnoticed. She was looking for the one that would help her communicate with all the rest. She took a good, hard look around for the pretty girl. At the desk, there was the cunning ex-Watcher that Daddy works for. To his left stood the dark-haired Slayer, the roguish one and to his right stood the small, mousy brunette. Sitting at the TV was the silly singing chartreuse-colored demon and the shining, green-glowing kid sister of the other Slayer. Daddy, the bad Slayer, the other Watcher and her darling boy weren't there. Neither were those lovely witches.

The bald boy was sitting at the foot of the couch, reading the comics section of the newspaper. Then she saw who she was looking for. Laying on the couch, eyes shut, mind off in her own little dream world. Unconsciousness is key when it comes to switching minds, you know.

She looked so peaceful, so serene. Her arms were folded across her light blue, tank top clad upper body in a "Somebody please for the love of God get me a blanket" fashion. She was resting comfortably on her side. Her head was resting on one of the pillows on the couch and had her mouth open like a fish, drooling. Apparently no one was brave enough to wake her up and point this fact out to her.

The tranference didn't take long. She was sure the Cheerleader didn't feel a thing as the minds were switched. 

The final stage in Drusilla's plan was complete.   


********

"How's the plan coming along, Wes?" Faith said as she looked over his shoulder. 

"It's flawless," he replied. Both girls surrounding him responded to the reply with a questioning look. "Well, it's flawless in the sense that many things could go wrong."

"Uh-huh," Fred remarked. "That's what I thought."

"I'd like to see you come up with something better. Or anything at all for that matter. At this point, this is all we got so we're going to go with it."

Gunn, who was sitting on the end of the couch that Cordelia was sleeping on, suddenly looked up from his paper. "Ya ever get the feeling you're being watched?" he mumbled as he gazed at the ceiling of the lobby.

"All the time, boyo," Lorne replied sarcastically. His attention had never wandered away from the screen he and Dawn were watching. "Damn you're good, kid."

"You got that right," she said, still fixated on the TV. "Ha ha! Nobody messes with Dawn Summers, Queen of 'Dr. Mario!'"

"Those viruses never stood a chance," the green demon said with a tinge of sympathy in his voice. 

Gunn took another survey of the room. "Where is everybody? Did they all just vamoose after the beacon thing?"

Wesley broke in. "Angel, Spike, Buffy and Giles went out to get more books at the rare book shop."

"I understand why the librarian went. But why'd Buffy and the two vamps go with?" Faith interrupted. 

"Spike and Angel were complaining of hunger pangs and they were going to stop off and get some blood on the way back."

Faith further pursued. "And Buffy?"

"Didn't want Spike killing Angel or Angel killing Spike." Wesley looked up from his book. "Though I don't know why she would want to prevent the second from coming to pass. The former, yes. The latter. . ."

"What about those two witches? Where'd they wander off to?" Gunn continued.

"No. . . Leave me alone. . . Get your animatronic hands off. . ." Cordelia stirred awake. 

"Morning sleepyhead," Lorne said in a motherly tone.

"Whoa. . . I've got a major head rush." Cordelia looked down at the pillow she had been resting her head on and noticed the trail of drool. "Why didn't anybody tell me I drooled in my sleep?"

No answer. She then stood up from the couch and nearly lost her balance. The dizziness was threatening to consume her wholly. 

"What is it, Cord?" Gunn asked when she had to lean against the couch arms to maintain equilibrium. "Is it a vision?"

Cordelia shook her head. "It's not the mind-blowing, 'Good God my head's about to burst' type of deal. That would be more like this." She impersonated herself having a vision but didn't fall to the floor. "I think I got up too fast."

"Happens to the best of us," Faith interjected.

Fred had to put in her thoughts. "Slayers get head rushes? Wouldn't they be like super head rushes 'cause of your super strength?" Faith didn't reply. "I'll be quiet now."  
  
"Is it hot in here or is it just me?" Cordelia wondered aloud. She wiped the sweat beads that were beginning to form on her head. 

"You're smoldering, Dollface," the green demon quickly responded. "You light up the room."

Cordelia wiped away more sweat. "No. . . I'm serious. It's as hot as hell in here and. . ." The brunette suddenly grew very, very quiet. Too quiet for Cordelia. This worried Wesley greatly.

"Cordelia. . . Cordelia, what is it? Are you okay?"

A wily grin creapt onto her face. "I've never been better, lovely Watcher."

Gunn screamed like a girl (which he would later defend) and fell off the back of the couch. Dawn made a choking sound while Faith, Fred and Lorne stared at Cordelia in horror. Wesley dropped the papers he had been holding in his hands.

"P- Par- Par-. . . What?! Cordelia, what's gotten into you?"

"Yeah seriously, girl!" Gunn cried out from his spot behind the couch. "You're wiggin' out on us!"

The now possessed-by-a-lunatic-vampire Cordelia answered the cries and the stares by dancing around the room like a ballerina on stage. A twirl here, a pirouette there and a pretty little hum to go with it all.

"Are you okay, Cordelia?" Wesley asked. "You're not. . ."

". . . yourself." Fred finished when Wesley couldn't. Wesley didn't have the heart to tell Fred that was not what he was about to say.

Cordelia abruptly halted dancing, covered her mouth with her hands and let out a child-like giggle. "Of course I'm not myself."

Lorne nodded. "Because we were all supposed to know that, right?"

She glided across the floor in Lorne's direction and tilted her head to one side. "This one sees life in song," Cordelia murmured, fingers playing the air like a harp. 

"That I do, babycakes, that I do," the demon replied. "But why are ya talking all funny? This isn't like you." A thought came to him. "Hold on a sec, Cord, sing me a few verses of 'Danny Boy.'"

The other spectators gave Lorne confused glares.

"I don't think she even *knows* Danny Boy," Wesley mentioned. The demon held up his hand as the girl complied. 

Once she was finished, a look came across Lorne's face as though he'd been hit by a truck. 

"Sweet Jesus on a tricycle. . ." he croaked.

Gunn stood up. "What is it, greenie? What's gotten into Cordy?"

"At least I can still hit people when they piss me off!"

"I thought you were too busy being guilt-ridden to hit people."

"WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?!" Buffy hollered as the four entered the hotel. "I can't stand your bickering and arguing anymore!"

"But Buffy. . ."

"Don't 'But Buffy' me!" the Slayer screamed as she pointed a pointed stake Angel's way. Her fury and the stake went Spike's way. "And YOU! This little catfight is all your fault! You two are starting to sound like a pair of old ladies!"

"Oh, he's just bitter I drank all his O positive," Spike defended.

"You're damn right I'm bitter! That was MY blood!"

Buffy threw up her arms. "There you go again. Sometimes I think you *like* to get into meaningless fights."

Giles walked in with a bookbag in one hand and his forehead resting in the other. "For those of you keeping score at home, they've been fighting like this ever since we left."

"First it was the 'Hey Angel, would you like some hair with that gel?' comment, then the 'I swear you would make a perfect gay man' comment and now this!" Buffy sighed an angry sigh. "Do you two *ever* stop fighting?"

The two vampires looked at each other, then back at Buffy. "No," they said in unison.

"Been like this since 1880, love. It'll never stop."

"Hey, wait a minute!" Angel exclaimed. "I almost forgot about the 'gay man' comment!"

"No!" Buffy interrupted. "Don't start this again!"

Meanwhile, Drusilla had been eyeing Dawn like a child eyes a candy store. "So pretty. . ."

"Uh, Cordy?" Dawn asked and for the first time took her attention away from the video game. "You okay? You don't look yourself."

"She shines. All green with pretty lights floating all around her," Drusilla mumbled. She reached her hands out to touch Dawn as if she was a strange object that fascinated her. "Can I play with it?" 

"That's it!" Dawn put the game on pause and stood up. "She's lost her mind! Only whackos can see the shiny in me."

"Whackos. . .?" Spike repeated. "Cor. . . You don't think. . ?"

"Think what?" Buffy inquired.

Spike stepped down from the foyer and stood right up next to the fluttering girl without a word of response to Buffy's question. "Dru? Is that you?"  
  


********

The first thought that entered Cordelia's mind was "OhGodOwItHurtsWhatTheHellHappened?" She sat there, curled up in a forward-leaning ball with her eyes squeezed tight not only from the massive pain in her head but from a little bit of fear as well. 

'Okay, Cordy,' she told herself, 'Don't be afraid. Fear leads to hate, hate leads tos. . . Dammit Gunn! Now he's got "Star Wars" mantras stuck in my head. Calm down, girl, calm down. Yelling at Gunn is going to get you nowhere. . . this time anyway. First things first, open your eyes.'

Her body abided by the mind's command and lifted open one eye followed by the other to find. . . a stone wall. 'Well, that's just hunky-dory. Of all the things to see and of all the clues to be given, I get the stone wall. That about narrows it down to. . . every place in the world that has a wall.' 

A gleaming of light above the section of wall caught her eye. It was glass and it contained something. Okay, there was some progress. With every amount of strength left in her body (which felt really cold by the way) she hoisted herself onto her knees and then to her feet. 

'Strange,' Cordelia thought, 'Normally after doing something fast like that I get a head rush like Niagara Falls.' She shrugged and leaned in to look at the diorama encased in the glass. The scene before her she recognized immediately as Sleeping Beauty's death scene. 

Cordelia also noticed something a bit off, but couldn't quite put her finger ('Blood?! Oh, that's gross') on it. In any case, now she knew where she was. 

'Second things second, Cord. How did you get here?' After a moments pondering, 'Easy enough. And hell will freeze over and Angel will learn to appreciate the sun more. Great.'

She carefully inspected her arms and noticed the many gashes and slices and cuts in her skin. Cordelia tried to remember what exactly had happened. She had been taking a nap, woke up from the nightmare of being attacked alive by those little dolls from "It's A Small World," began to feel really, really dizzy and then blacked out. If she had to put into words the feeling she had experienced moments after her blackout, she would tell you that it felt like someone took a Bissel vacuum and pulled her mind right out of her body.

'Was I drugged, kidnapped, dragged out of the hotel and thrown in here? Why didn't the others try and save me? What if they're hurt? Was I magically transported here by some freaky shaman who has an obsession with cartoon death scenes? WHY ME?' Cordelia took a deep breath and found it quite unnecessary.

Her gaze caught the glass once more. Where was she? She strained her eyes and availed no reflection of Cordelia and her ragged state. She waved her hand in front of her to try and catch any kind of movement. Again, nothing. 

A dim light appeared up the stairs a little ways away and Cordelia decided to investigate her surroundings a bit. As she took her first step she tripped on a porcelain doll with curly blonde hair and decked out in a chardonnay-colored dress, but paid no mind to it.

Cordelia passed by another glass cased diorama and checked for her reflection once more. No Cordelia. That still bothered her. Cordelia remembered when she was little and her parents would take her into the castle, she would press her face up to the glass and fog it up. She always remembered staring at the miniature scene in front of her and seeing her tiny eyes peer back at her. She knew for a fact that these things cast a reflection and at this present moment there wasn't one.

Before Cordelia reached the top step of the stairs, it hit her. She. Was. A. Vampire. The non-reflection, the peculiar craving for blood, it all made sense. 

And she was not just any vampire. She was Drusilla. Angel's good-girl-gone-insane childe and the one who made the really annoying blonde guy. 

How did the ex-cheerleader know this? She wasn't brainless, after all. Only a crazy person would tear the skin off her own arms and cradle themselves in a ball in front of a cartoon death scene. 'Besides, didn't Angel mention something about her being in Aurora's tower? Yeah, that's right. He did. But wait a sec. . . If I'm here. . .' Her eyes widened in shock. 'Then she's there! In me!' Cordelia cradled herself with her torn arms. 'There's a vampire inside my body. . .' The thought sent shivers down her spine.

But what the hell did Drusilla want with her anyway? Would she try and use her to attack Angel right at his home base? Maybe she wanted to do things to Spike. . . "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!" Her own will power couldn't stop the scream from escaping. She knew that bleached nightmare was a creep but she knew no matter what his sire said to him, he wouldn't do *that* to Cordelia's body. Hopefully. 

After taking a few unneeded deep breaths to calm herself down, she went further up the stairs towards the open window. Her abnormally good vampiric hearing caught voices that drifted in through the window crack.

"What in the name of Ch'Nalin was that?" a gruff voice inquired.

Another similar sounding voice arose. "Oh, don't mind that. It's only that crazy hybrid we got locked up in the tower. She does that from time to time. Completely out of her mind." The voice got louder as the two demons got closer. "She's been up there since we locked her in there. Crazy bitch thought she could actually stop us from getting the child. Kept howling something about 'Little Brother,' whoever the hell that is."

The first demon spoke again. "A psycho, eh? But who ever heard of a vampire trying to stop the Apocalypse?"

"I don't know," the other demon replied. "But she's a complete nut job if she thinks she can prevent the Sacred Demise and the rising of our Lord Ch'Nalin." Both gruff voices erupted into laughter and disappeared off into the distance. 

Cordelia's heart suddenly felt as if it weren't beating. Then she remembered she was in the body of a vampire that didn't even have a beating heart. With an irritated sigh, she leaned against the wall and slid down right to the floor. 

She spoke for the first time with Drusilla's vocal chords. The voice that came out startled her. "Check me out. . . I'm Cordelia Chase: the 142 year old crazy vampire."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  



	12. Murphy's Law Ain't Lying

  
  
  
  


Xander had been impatiently pacing his hospital room for the past 45 minutes. Angry thoughts were racing through his mind, leaving him bitter. 

"I knew it," he mumbled. "I knew it. Angel doesn't give a damn about me. 'Trust a vampire with a soul. That'll get you far in life.' He probably just hung up and didn't tell anyone about me and he'll go on with his merry unlife until he remembers, 'Oh yeah, end of the world. Well, there I go!' But maybe he didn't. Why's it taking him so long?! Why aren't I out of this hellhole. . .?!"

Xander's ranting was cut off by the abrupt entrance of Anya. The look on her face was that of a terrified chipmunk. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair was an absolute mess and she had a nasty cut across her left cheek. Her face was dirt stained and her makeup was no longer in a state of cleanliness. Xander also noticed that she held her left hand in a strangely bent way.

"Anya. . . Anya, what's wrong?" He grabbed her by the shoulders to keep her from shaking any harder. "What happened?"

His wife's response came in broken sentences. "Magic Box. . . Demons. . . Attack. . . Robbing. . . Chad. . ."

"Wait a sec, honey. Calm down." Xander's grasp on her shoulders didn't loosen in intensity. He then attempted to translate her ramblings. "Chad and a gang of demons robbed and attacked the Magic Box?"

The ex-demon shook her head with vigor. After a few moments of deep breaths, her story came out a bit clearer than before. "No. . . Chad tried to protect me. This gang of Chaos demons who bore the Mark of Ch'Nalin, met their kind before and they're not very pleasant to be around believe you me, broke into the store. Though I don't understand why they had to break down the door. I mean, it was the middle of the day and the store was still open. It's gonna cost a whole freak load of money to replace it." Xander gave her the look that said 'Get on with it.' She conformed to the look.

"Anyway, the demons broke into the store and demanded the Runic of Virgo, which of course I wouldn't give them even though we had one in stock. I knew what they want with it. When I refused, they grabbed me, kicking and screaming, and threw me down the stairs into the basement and locked me there. I could hear fighting upstairs, which I took to mean that they were throwing down shelves and completely ruining the place.

"To make a long story short, they kicked Chad's ass from here to kingdom come and took the Runic." 

A look of horror came across Xander's wounded face. He quoted the first British vampire that came to mind. "Bloody hell. The only thing left for them to get is. . ."

". . . the child," Anya concluded. She didn't care enough anymore to tell him that his hands were still gripping her shoulders. "And they've got two days to get it."

Xander looked sorrowfully down. "Just when I thought Murphy was lying. . ."  
  
  
  


*****  


". . . Things can, and are going, terribly wrong," Angel mumbled, not knowing he was finishing the phrase of a distant Xander. But he had good reason to utter such a thing. Angel, in his 249 years as a vampire, has been around the block a few thousand times and he'd never seen anything like this. Ever.

Cordelia, now with the mentality of an insane vampiress, was cradled in the arms of Spike as if it were a happy Norman Rockwell painting. That is, if Norman Rockwell was into the vampire scene. 

"Aww. . ." Lorne sighed, clasping his hands together and placing them on his chest. "Isn't that just the most darlingest thing you ever saw?"

"Greenie. . . You knew, didn't you?" Lorne nodded at Gunn's inquiry. 

"I was about to tell you that before Ralph and Alice here. . ." The Pylean gestured his hand in Spike and Angel's general directions. ". . . interrupted my lovely explanation." Both vampires shot Lorne a nasty look when he referred to the two of them as the Kramdens. Lorne didn't know or didn't care to notice.

"What made you think of 'Danny Boy' anyway?" Fred intervened. "There *are* other songs out there."

"Good question, sweetie. It's a proven fact that every Britishman and woman from the late 1800's knows the lyrics to 'Danny Boy.' Right, Blondie?"

The younger vampire tried to combat Lorne's comment in some way, but couldn't. "Yeah. . ." he replied tonelessly.

Buffy needed to point out the strangeness of the situation. "Uh, Spike?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"Huh?"

"That person. In your arms. Why is she there?"

Spike looked down at what Buffy pointed out. There was the May Queen resting protectively in his arms, resting her head against his chest. 'Just like the ol' days. . .' He shook his head. 'Look who it *is*, mate! Well, not on the outside anyway.' He didn't exactly know how this embrace had occurred. One moment, she was shivering and shaking in her usual lunatic way when she got excited or flustered and the next. . .

Spike felt the girl in his arms and, for unexplainable reasons, felt comfortable and familiar.

But that couldn't be his answer. Too sissy. The answer he did come up with had a bit more of the Spike touch to it.

"Jealous?" He followed up the question with his trademark smirk and raise of the scarred eyebrow. A muffled laugh came from where Drusilla had her head in his chest. 

The Slayer's eyes widened in horror. Just the reaction he was going for.

'Not here, not now, not in front of Angel!' Buffy mentally yelled at the vampire. But, she knew, he couldn't hear her. It was pointless, so instead she replied in the tone she was so used to talking to him with.

"You're a pig."

"You know, Slayer, you *really* have to come up with a new insult. That one got old the first twelve-thousandth you pierced me with it."

Buffy was flustered, but oddly intrigued and attracted by his swagger. . . 'NO! STOP IT!' She stuck out her tongue.

"Oh, real mature."

Wesley spoke up. "Ahem!" All heads in the room, save the body of Cordelia, turned to the head of Angel Investigations. "I feel bad about breaking up this, uh, domestic dispute of sorts. . . But could we talk about the plan to get Xander out of the hospital safely? We'll deal with this Cordelia/Drusilla matter soon enough." Wesley looked around the room. "Where are Willow and Tara? They might like to hear this, too."

Dawn coughed. "What? They're probably doing something. . . Magicky."

"So that's what kids are calling it these days," Lorne remarked.

Wesley wanted to change the subject *desperately.* "As I was saying. . . The plan to get Xander out of Sunnydale would first involve. . ."

"Get them away! Get them away! They've come for Little Brother!" Drusilla was violently thrashing in her childe's arms and he was having a hard time keeping her under control. 

"Spike!" Angel screamed over Dru's screeching. "Get her out of here! Take her to one of the rooms, preferably not a used one! Just. . . get her out!" Spike followed Angel's orders and dragged Cordelia's person kicking and screaming up the hotel stairs. 

"We seem to be interrupted a lot these days, aren't we?" Gunn commented. They all silently agreed.

Once the screaming was out of earshot, Wesley continued his speech, hopefully uninterrupted. "As I was saying. . ."

The ex-Watcher's fears soon came to be. Just as his instructions for getting Xander out safely were under way, the front door to the Hyperion ripped open to reveal fifteen or so demons, all sorts of nasty creatures of varying races brandishing axes and broadswords. Leading the group of lesser demons was a Pleuon demon, known for their natural skills in magic and wizardry, dressed in bright colored silk robes. Emblazoned on the front of the larger demon's robe was an eye absorbed in flames, much like the one on the coin that Faith had found.

"Nice digs," Lorne observed upon sight of the smallish but frightening demon. "Where'd you get 'em? Joseph's Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoats?"

The Pleuon raised his hand above his head. "Silence, Krevlorneswath." 

"How did you know my name?" 

The head demon waved his hand in its place in the air. "I know much. But we are not here to mingle. We have come for the child."

Angel unintentionally switched to his game face. "You stay away from him," Angel threatened through clenched teeth.

"And what will you do about it, hybrid? Attack me?" The Pleuon snorted. "I think not."

Buffy stepped in. "You have no idea who you're messing with, buddy. I'm the Slayer and so is she." Buffy pointed to her Chosen counterpart. "We could kick your ugly demon ass from here to next Tuesday." Faith stepped up to Buffy's side to show the demon what he was dealing. "Besides, I bet those little lackeys you have built up back there are just for show. No tell."

The magic demon was not affected one bit. In fact, he thought this humorous. "Ah, that is true." With a smooth wave of his hand, the demons behind him disappeared. "But you couldn't hurt me with an army of ten thousand Slayers. Now where is the child?"

"Like we'd tell you!" Fred roared. The tone of her voice conflicted with her smallish figure. 

Angel, in slick vampire fashion, had used that "disappearing thingy" Cordelia had brought up earlier to make his way to Connor's bassinet undetected. Just as he cradled his son discreetly into his billowy coat, Angel felt his dead body run even colder than usual. All of his joints locked and he became frozen like a statue. The Pleuon had used a freeze spell on the vampire. To ensure that no one would get in his way, the Pleuon used a similar spell on all the other occupants of the room.

"I'm guessing Nest taught you *that* little magic trick, didn't he, Angelus?" The robed demon drifted Angel's way and took Connor into his own arms without struggle from the small being. "But you can't protect the child now. He will help us raise Ch'Nalin and bring the demise of the disease that is mankind. As well as you weakling hybrids." 

The Pleuon returned to his spot of entry. "And to make sure you all don't get in the way. . ." He mumbled a few archaic words under his breath and before anyone had fully comprehended what was happening, they felt their eyelids become extremely heavy. Not long after, they collapsed in on themselves into heaps of bodies on the floor.

Seconds after the demon's departure, the phone began to blare. The ringing, unfortunately, fell upon deaf ears. 

No one knew Xander had attempted to reach them.  
  


*****

  
  


"Well, that's just fine 'n dandy," Xander muttered as he place the phone back onto its hook. "No one's answering."

"Maybe they're on their way to come get you," Anya suggested.

Xander shook his head. "Not likely. They're not letting anyone in or out of L.A. Not since the earthquake, anyway." 

He then suddenly remembered the *extreme* predicament he was currently in. Alexander LaVelle Harris, the Zeppo of the Scooby Gang, newly discovered Hero, was being kept in a hospital because they thought he had gone insane when he had switched minds with a century old vampiress. . . Okay, he had to admit, that did sound a *little*. . . strange. . . The dark-haired man shook his head. That's it. . . He wasn't going to wait for Angel's help anymore. Dammit, he was the Hero and heroes do that independent, "Take the bull by the horns" kind of thing. 

But first he had to tell Anya. 

It took him several minutes to explain the whole "Guess who's the only one who can stop the end of the world!" speech and once he was done, Anya shrugged. "Not a surprise. I saw the mark on your shoulder."

"There's. . . There's a mark? Why wasn't I told there was a mark?" Xander frantically pawed at his shoulder to get a look at the now infamous mark. He screamed at the sight of the brown scar shaped like deformed sword-and-shield resting on his left scapula. "What the hell *is* that?! And how come I never noticed it before?!"

Anya laughed. "The Mark of the Sacred Hero, beady eyes." She began to quote from some ancient textbook Xander had yet to delve into. "'The Sacred Hero: He, only he and no other, can prevent the rise of Ch'Nalin and the accompanying Armageddon from sweeping the landscapes of the Earth. The Hero will be born with the mark of Hishtat, the leader of the hidden human movement within Ch'Nalin's army. These humans disguised themselves as demons for the sole purpose of defeating the warlord master."

"And let me guess," Xander said, closing his eyes, "I'm descended from that Hishy guy."

"Hishtat. Yes, you are."

The injured one sighed. "Why am I not surprised?"

"You're from Sunnydale," Anya stated as if Xander didn't know this little piece of information already. "If a 50-ton gorilla-rhino-ogre crossbreed fell from the sky and through your roof and landed on top of your armoire, crushing it into a thousand tiny pieces, you would just mumble that it's another day in the life of a Sunnydalian and go on reading your comic books and eating your Twinkies as if nothing happened."

Xander could not argue with that statement in any way, shape or form. Because, if something like that *did* happen (and being from Sunnydale, the odds of such an occurrence are higher than, say, at his Uncle Rory's cabin in San Fernando, but only slightly higher), he would just shrug it off as another perk about being a member of the Scoobies.  
  
"But how am I going to get out of here, Ahn? The point of being born the Sacred Hero is to do something heroic! Can't exactly be Clark Kent if I'm stuck in the head injury ward!" Moments of silence passed as Xander came up with an idea. "Whoa. . . Whoa. . . I think I'm having a thought. . . Yeah, yeah. . . That's a thought. Oh. . . Now I'm having a plan."

"Good Xander," Anya complimented, patting him on the shoulder. "Now, what is it?"

"First, I need you to take off your shirt. . ."  
  


*****

  
  


Boy, had he forgotten how rowdy she could get when she's all worked up like that. Tornado, hurricane, earthquake, tsunami, meteor. . . Nothing could compare to the destructive force of his former beloved.

Angel had told him to put her in a room that was preferably not being used. So, naturally, Spike placed the out of control Drusilla in Angel's abode.

Ooh, what a fine mess she had made in there. The thought of the absolute chaos she had caused put a smile on Spike's clawed-up face. 'Oh yeah. She messed that up too.' The smile disappeared as soon as it had arrived. 

We join our favorite blonde vampire sitting up against Angel's locked hotel room door which contained the temporarily calmed Cordelia body. We mean temporarily because at this moment, he'd tied her up with some rope (don't ask him *why* Angel conveniently had rope in his dresser, he really doesn't want to know) and stuffed a clean sock (he may be evil but not even he would use an old Angel sock) into her mouth to stop the annoying metaphors from spewing out. 

Twenty minutes it had taken for him to get all the information out of that crazy girl's skull, but at least he'd extracted what he wanted to hear. 

'Let's see. . . After she thought she was a cat and my face was a scratching post, I learned she was doing all this hero mumbo-jumbo to protect Peaches' offshoot. When I'd asked why, she took one of the Cheerleader's manicured nails and slammed it right into the soft spot of my left eye. So, before I could press out any more info, I did what came naturally to me. And tied her up. Smooth move, William. That only got her more brassed off and a whole hell of a lot more tight-lipped than usual. If that's even bloody possible.'

Spike banged the back of his head against the door. 'Great. More pain in my unlife. Just what I need.' 

"Spike? Spike, are you okay? You look awfully beat up."

He didn't even have the energy to look up at the witches standing above him. "Thanks, Red. I haven't noticed the searing pain shooting out my eyeball or the twin nail gashes on my cheeks." He gathered up just enough strength to get a good look at the top of Willow's fiery red head out of his right eye. His left eye, the pesky thing, decided not to regain sight as of now.

"By the by, where have you two happy birds been? Nesting?" Spike had put just enough emphasis on "Nesting" to bother Willow.

"Do you want help up or not, chip-brain?" 

He considered the offer a moment. "As of right this instant. . . no."

"Why are you up here, anyway?" Tara asked. "Who do you have locked in Angel's room?"

The vampire groaned. He was still way too exhausted to retell the tale. It was a lot of work keeping that insane mind-snatcher under control, you know. 

A loud crashing noise seeped through the cracks in the door. The sound of a chair smashing to bits. 

Spike gathered his arm strength to push himself from the floor to his feet, but victory was not his. Neither was luck or good timing, he later realized.

With the help of the two women, he miraculously arrived onto his two legs and, as a reward of sorts, quickly told them the tale of Drusilla: the mind switcher. 

"How did she do it?" Willow inquired. "I mean really. That takes some serious skill to pull something that hefty off."

"Who knows? Who cares?" Spike did a one-eighty pivot on his booted heel and twisted the doorknob with his right hand. The door swung open to find the feral Cordelia ripping the bedsheets. Her hands were still loosely tied with rope. 

Her incessant mumbling became coherent to Spike's ears. "He's gone. Little Brother's gone. They've taken him. There's nothing we could have done. . . The nasties have snatched him away and taken him to the horrible place where he could scream and no one will hear. You tried, my Spike. . . We all did. He's far from us now. Not even the moon can see him." 

"Wait a second. . . Who's Little Brother?"

"Notice how Angel's been playing the Ward Cleaver to that baby's Beav?" Willow nodded. "It's not an act."

"I KNEW IT!" Willow hollered. "I knew it, I knew it, I knew it. He was being way too paternal for that kid to be adopted!" Her mood turned curious. "Who's the mother?"

Tara placed her hands on Willow's shoulders. "Focus, Will. Something serious is happening. Or. . . about to happen."

"C'mon, Tara. If things were going to horribly wrong, it would have already. Besides, who believes in Murphy's law anymore?"

"From my experience, the bloke wasn't lying."

"The silence. . . It's deafening. I don't hear any whispers. They've all gone to the land of sugar canes and lollipops, but they weren't sent through sleepiness."

Spike sighed. One hundred years of cryptic messages and blurbs were slowly reentering his mind. "Who, pet?" Dru pointed to the floor. 

The master vampire and the two Wiccans needed no further explanation. The three dashed out the door of Angel's room and ran down the tiring numerous flights of stairs. The sight that beheld them when they reached the lobby floor looked like a post-battle scene from a World War II movie. 

"Oh, goddess!" Tara and Willow cried in stereo. Hand in hand, they ran down the last few steps and crouched over Buffy and Faith's dormant bodies. "What happened?!"

"Beats the hell out of me," Spike responded. His glance drifted to the now unoccupied baby bassinet. "Where's the kid?"

"'He's gone,'" Willow quoted. "'The nasties have snatched him away. . .'" 

Tara lifted the unconscious body of Faith and checked her pulse. "They're alive and they don't seem to have any kind of battle wounds." She gently placed the Slayer back onto the ground. "I'm guessing sleeping spell. But thank Goddess that it wears off after a while with no serious side effects. Not that I know of, anyway." Tara returned to a standing position and looked back at the scene before her. "We should get them in a safer place. If someone were to walk in. . ." Spike and Willow agreed with a nod.

Spike took a leap over the stair railing, similar to the one he had done earlier. "Now what was that you were saying about Murphy's law?" Spike teased.

"Murphy's law ain't lying," Willow murmured as she lifted the sleeping body of the blonde Slayer. "Ain't lying at all."  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  



	13. Brave Sir Harris Ran Away

A/N: Hey all! I'm back with another rousing chapter. Did y'all notice the "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" reference in the chapter title? I'm sorry, I just couldn't help myself. 

A/N 2.0: Oh, and to fix up a few continuity problems I notice I've been having in this story, I reposted chapter six with a few more changes. Now it should all make sense if you read it from the start. Enjoy the chapter and don't forget those reviews!  


****  
  
"This can't be happening . . . I am not that crazy psycho . . . I am not that crazy psycho . . . " That became Cordelia's mantra as she paced the stone castle floor up and down the stairs. "I AM NOT CRAZY!!" Well, maybe that was stretching it a little. 'Try telling this one to the authorities and see them throw you into a psychiatric ward faster than you can say shopping spree.' 

All this, this whole *thing* that was going on: the end of the world (at Disneyland, of all places), this mind-switching deal, that something she'd heard about the child. *Everything* was just getting on her nerves. 

For a while, Cordelia had contemplated trying to escape the castle. Then she remembered the demons that filled the place weren't exactly fans of the vampiric race and decided on otherwise. The last thing she wanted was to be turned into dust. That was a vampire way of demise and she was *not* a vampire. 

Not normally, anyway.

"Look on the bright side, Cord. At least it isn't sunny outside." 'At least I still have a sense of humor,' she told herself. 'And at least the voice in my head is my own.'

"Ain't dat the truth," a voice from the shadows came. 

Cordelia strained with her newly-given vampire eyes to see who was in the tower with her. "Who's there?" the brunette called. God, she recognized that voice from *somewhere*. . .

"Don'tcha reco'nize me?" The mysterious voice still didn't show himself. 

"Not if you keep yourself hidden in the dark, pal."

"It's strange, Cord. It's you in there. . . but on first sight ya look like a crazy vampire."

Cordelia's mouth made an "O" shape. Just by the way he said "vampire". . . 

"You know, I noticed. Now who the hell are you?"

Fortunately for her, no introductions were needed. The figure seeped out of the shadows almost like water through the cracks of a door. Almost, Cordelia observed, like a ghost.

Cordelia got her first good look at the stranger from the shadows. "Oh God. . . It is you. . ."  
  


*****

"That's the last of 'em." Willow and Tara's heads spun around at Spike's announcement. He had just finished putting the last unconscious body in Wesley's office and closed the door. The three of them decided that if anybody decided to waltz into Angel Investigations and saw unmoving bodies sprawled across the floor, it wouldn't look good for them.

"Well. . . Now what?" The Wiccans shrugged in unison. 

"We wait for them to wake up, I suppose," Willow offered. 

Spike took a seat in the red sofa near the office. "That's a trip to boredom city if there ever was one." He removed the cigarette pack from his duster pocket. 

"Where is everyone?" Cordelia's voice drifted from the stairs. "They've all disappeared."

"They didn't disappear, pet," Spike said with his "100 years of dealing with Drusilla" voice. "They've all gone to the land of sugar canes and lollipops, remember?"

"Oh yeah." Drusilla rubbed her blue, tank-top covered belly. "I'm hungry."

"For what?" Willow questioned. "Blood or actual food?"

Before the vampiress could reply, Cordelia's form started to look dazedly around. She began to moan and collapsed down the stairs. When the tumbling subsided, Drusilla lay on the foyer floor, still moaning.

"The angel's bleeding. . ." She was rocking back and forth like someone had flipped over a turtle. 

"Well, Peaches has got a few cuts on his forehead but he isn't exactly bleeding. . ."

"Not *Angel,* Spike. The angel. The one in the prophecy."

Tara caught Willow's drift. "Oh, oh! The blood that supposed to pour from the bowels of the angel." The blonde Wiccan paused. "Does anyone else here think that's gross?" Willow raised a hand.

Drusilla's moaning turned from that to hysterical laughter within a matter of moments. 

"What's so funny now?" Spike asked irritably. He still hadn't moved from his spot on the red couch.

"Is this her 'I think everything in the world is absolutely hysterical' maniacal laughter or her 'Chicken Little: the sky's about to fall' laughter? Cause either way I'm still majorly wigged."  
  
"Neither," Spike replied. "Or both. With her, it's really hard to tell."

Still lying on her back, Drusilla did an impersonation of a bird. She flapped her arms and made chirping noises. Willow and Tara gave the Cordelia-shaped vampire a puzzled look.

"The bird's going free. . . Breaking open the cage bars and flying away to his destiny." Her arms still flapped but now she was on her knees. "The Knight and his damsel are riding to Camelot on their stolen horse."

Spike understood his sire's meaning, but the two girls in the room were completely baffled. "What's she going off on?"

The younger vampire chuckled. "So that's how it is?"

"How what is? Spill the beans!"

To leave Willow in a temporary state of suspense, Spike took an extra long drag on his cigarette. He slowly let the cigarette fall to the floor and even more slowly crushed it beneath his boot heel. By the time he had finished his teasing, Willow's face was the color of her hair.

Spike noticed the change in color with his working right eye. By the way she was glaring he knew that if he didn't tell her what Dru had meant, he would become indistinguishable from the dust that currently lay on the hotel floor. 

"Brave Sir Harris ran away."  


*****  
  


Xander gripped the wheel of the stolen ambulance so hard his knuckled turned bone white. His breathing had become ragged and it felt as though his heart was running the Boston Marathon on its own volition. 

"I don't see why you're still so hyper, Xander," Anya voice piped up from the seat next to him. "We made it out of the hospital alive and now you can go save the world without a hitch! Stop worrying!"

'Save the world without a hitch? What was Anya thinking? Apparently, she doesn't remember those Glory days which involved that small thing called Buffy's death. I mean, just getting out of the hospital nearly ended the world in itself.' 

Man, had those two made a commotion. Xander's "shirtless Anya" plan didn't work out *exactly* as planned but, hey, they got out alive. 

Barely.

At this current time, Xander would like to give you a quick recap of the events of the past few hours in as best detail as possible:

4:46 p.m.: I reveal my plan to Anya. 

5:31: I *finally* convince her that this plan is not all that bad of an idea and she removes the previously aforementioned article of clothing.

5:32: Anya shrieks and three lab-coated doctors come charging into my room. The trio, two males and one female, freeze at the sight of my shirtless ex-demon. By the time the docs get into my room, they find me shivering under my hospital blanket (part of my plan, you see).

5:35: After several minutes of coaxing, the lady doctor gets me out from under the sheets. The two male doctors were. . . um. . . busy at the moment. . . examining. Not the touchy kind. More like the eyeballing kind.

5:36: The two male doctors inquire Anya's state of shirtlessness and she replies like I so diligently told her to. "He did it." I hold the shirt up in my hand as proof.

5:38: Those burly male nurses are forcefully grabbing me by the arms and dragging me out of the hospital room. Male doctors have yet to stop staring and don't notice my departure. So far so good.

5:39: Wait a minute. Why aren't they taking me to the ambulances and to some correctional facility? (You see, I was going to hijack the ambulance while in it. Being a Scooby, it's a good skill to have) Oh, God no! They're taking me to that padded room! No, this is not good. I yell for the ambulances, knowing full well they aren't going to listen to the pleas of a head injury patient. 

5:43: Okay, so I panicked. I guess those past six years hanging out with the Slayer taught me a few things about fisticuffs. I broke free from the tough grasp, got hold of a broom and took out those two male nurses. (No, please, don't *ask* how I did it. I just did) I had run back to get Anya where those two doctors were still "questioning" her. In my freaked state of mind, I knocked them out with that broom too. (Unnecessary, yes, I see that now)

5:44: That female doctor called security. Now we're being chased. Not the kind of thing one, namely me, would want.

5:46: We reach the elevator to find it filled with hospital cops. Anya suggests the stairs and I comply.

5:47: Eight. . . flights. . . of. . . stairs. . . bad. Can't. . . breathe. At least now we've found a way into the ambulance parking area. 

5:49: I hear a stampede of feet enter the garage and I'm now even more scared than I was when I knocked out those nurse guys. Unless I get into an ambulance pronto, I'm as good as a mentally insane criminal.

5:50: Madre de Dios, they're getting closer and they've got straitjackets and handcuffs. C'mon. . . open, damn you, open!

5:51: Success! I've picked the lock of the damned ambulance and climbed in. Unfortunately, twenty hospital security people are right on my ass and I haven't gotten the thing started. For once, and only once, do I wish Spike were here. . .

5:52: Sweet Merciful Zeus! Anya hot-wired the ambulance. I'll ask her later how she knew how to do that.

5:55: I don't know how I did it, but I did. We're out of the garage and getting the hell out of Sunnydale. Disneyland here we come. 

5:56: Terror grips my heart as I realize *cops have cars.* Anya says not to worry, but I still do.

And that's right about where we find our fleeing hero and his lady. "Stop worrying? Anya, I have the entire Sunnydale police force riding my ass and you say not to worry?!"

Anya waves her hand in his face to get him to be quiet. "Hush, Xander. I'm on the phone."

For the first time since their breakaway, Xander took his eyes off the road. "You're WHAT?!"

"You can?" Anya asked the mysterious person on the other end of the phone, ignoring Xander's outburst. "Great! I owe you one, Tini." She clicked her cell phone shut and placed it back into her purse. "See, I told you. No worries."

"Who the hell was that?"

"That was my old friend, Tini. She's a Pleuon demon." Xander blinked in confusion. "Pleuon demons are magical, silly. I just asked her to cast an amnesia spell on the Sunnydale police, and *bam*, no more coppers on our tail."

To make sure Anya was telling the truth, Xander caught a look into the rear view mirror. Where there had once been ten police cars chasing them, there were now none to speak of. A weight was lifted from his shoulders. "So, all the Sunnydale police have forgotten why they're chasing me and turned back home?" Anya nodded. 

"Another thing. . . How did you know how to hot-wire a car?"

"When you've been around 1100 years, you learn a few things," Anya replied nonchalantly.

'Huh,' Xander thought. For the first time, he had nothing witty or sarcastic to say.

****

"Glad ta know I haven't lost my touch wit' the ladies."

Cordelia was still in complete bewilderment. "Doyle? B-B-But. . . How?!"

"I'm a ghost, Cordy, that's how."

"HOW?!"

Doyle knew there was really no easy way for Cordelia to understand this. "I died, remember?"

"Why are you here?"

Finally, a question that involved some thought process. "The Powers sent me to help you."

Cordelia walked up to the ghostly figure to get a better look. Up until now, Cordelia was sure that he had just been a figment of Drusilla's maniacal imagination. "Me? Why?"

The ghost Doyle, who now seemed to take on a more material, non-misty guise, crossed his arms and laughed. "You think the Powers just went and let Drusilla switch minds with ya? No bloody way. They allowed this to happen."

"Why?"

"Christ, princess. You think they told me? All I know is that head injury boy in Sunnydale all has a HUGE role to play in the upcomin' battle. And to be honest, I think his role goes deeper into the future as well."

"Well, duh, Doyle. Everyone knows he's the frickin' hero! I think there was some kind of bulletin over the Demon Broadcast System or something! I mean that all demons. . . know. . . Oh, God! Xander's in trouble, isn't he?"

The half-demon pursed his lips and nodded his head solemnly. "Mm-hmm. That's the word on the PTB street."

"And, in typical Xander Harris fashion, he's on his way here right now to play the strapping hero." Doyle nodded again. "Dammit! Why does it have to be Xander? He's the Zeppo, for God's sake. He doesn't know how to be heroic."

Doyle uncrossed his arms and held up a hand. "That's where you're wrong, Cord. He may not have superhuman strength, everyone who's ever met him knows that one, but he has a mental strength all his own."

"Huh? We are talking about the same Xander, right?"

"I'm serious, Cor. That boy's been through a whole hell of a lot the past six years of hangin' out wit' that Slayer girl. What with nearly being killed the first day the pretty Slayer comes to town, the Harvest, the Prayin' Mantis Lady, the Master, Angelus, Faith. . . Need I say more?"

"Yeah, okay, all right. . ." Cordelia interrupted. "I get your point. But why Xander the hero? Is it something in his blood?"

"Precisely," the ghost stated. 

"What does this have to do with the Powers letting the Lady Insane switch minds with me?"

Doyle bellowed out a hardy Irish laugh. "Do you think the Knights of the Round Table in Los Angeles were anywhere close to figuring out what's about to go down in Anaheim? They're about as clueless as the girls of the same-named movie. The only one of the crew you got over there in L.A. who was close to figuring anything out was the Clorox vampire." 

"Spike? You're kidding. . ."

"Not a word, princess."

"So. . . Wait. They let Drusilla switch minds with me because she was the only person. . . thing. . . that knew what was going to happen on the 14th?" The ghost nodded. "Why was I the lucky one to get mind-swapped? Was there some kind of lottery I won and didn't know about?"

"It's the half-demon in ya, Cord. The one that my ol' buddy Skip gave ya a while back. Angel's little girl tried to use it on poor Harris but his human mind couldn't handle the extremity of it all. You, having at least some demon, were able to handle it a lot better."

"What about Lorne? He's a demon."

Doyle tilted his head to one side. "As a woman, answer me this. Which would you rather be: A.) a pea green, horned demon from Pylea or B.) a young, 21-year old brunette female from Southern California?"

Cordelia looked into Doyle's eyes a moment, pondering his question. "I see what you mean. The woman's got good taste." She changed the subject quickly. "Now how am I going to get out of here?"

"When Drusilla's done, she'll return ya back to your rightful body. Just be a bit more. . . patient."

Cordelia threw the scratched-up arms into the air. "Patient? Patient? Do you know how long I've been waiting here for help? Why can't you get me outta here?"

Doyle sighed. "Only the person who made the transference in the first place can put you back in your rightful place." 

"Oh."

"And besides, I'm only here to give ya the straight facts. To tell you how it is. Not to help, as much as I'd like to." A beeping sound entered the air and Doyle looked down at the watch on his left arm. "I gotta go."

"Whatdya mean, you gotta go? You have an elsewhere to be?"

"Unfortunately," the demon replied. "But don't worry, Cord. I'll be around." With a wave of his arm, he disappeared back into the shadow from which he came from. Before he was fully gone, Cordelia heard his voice say, "I'm not quite done here yet."   
  
  
  



	14. The Domino Theory

  
  


Author's Note: Here's chapter 14, *finally*! I'm sorry to all those who had to wait so long for me to actually getting around to finishing this crazy story. Too many things going on in my life as of now and I haven't had much time to work on this chapter. I promise the last chapters will be produced faster than this one was.  
  


*****  
  


"Ugh. . . . My head. . . I feel like I was seriously smashed. . ." The Bostonian Slayer walked ever-so carefully out of Wesley's office making sure she didn't collapse from the dizziness. "Then again, being smashed doesn't involve small, green demons in colorful robes chanting gibberish. Not since New Orleans anyway." 

"Well, well. . . Looks like someone finally decided to wake up." Willow stepped beside the dizzy brunette and took the crook of her arm. The redhead led her to the stairs. 

"Could you tell us what happened?" Tara asked, rushing to Faith's other side. "Can you?"

Faith shook her head, her hands cupping her temples. "Sorta. I don't remember much. It's all kinda blurry." Willow handed her a glass of water. "Thanks, Red." 

"Tell us what you *do* remember, then," Willow asked, her voice a little more anger-filled than she had intended. Patience while talking to Faith was not one of Willow's virtues. The two females don't exactly have a friendly past, one might say.

Faith took a sip of water before telling her view of the tale. "This midget of an ugly-ass demon-thing came into the hotel. He came in here all demanding that little bundle of Angel's joy. And, if you wanted to know, that little Minnie Mouse-girl is, like, tougher than she looks. Anyhows, the Almighty Diminutive One froze us all with some kind of paralyzing spell thingy." Willow and Tara nodded. It was what they had expected. "Once the midget was done acting bigger than he was, he took the kid and then did some sort of knocking-out spell." She took another sip of water. "That's 'bout all I can remember."

A British voice entered the hotel's air. "So it was a Pleuon, eh? Annoying little bastards when they're casting spells on you." The three girls crowded around the stairs noticed Spike sitting on the couch closest to the TV with the Drusilla-masked-as-Cordelia sitting at his side. "They're the extreme poster boys for overcompensation. It's kinda like when a guy gets a really, really nice red sports car; you know what *that* says about him. Pleuons are the same way, only with magic instead of cars, to make up for lack of height rather than . . . performance." Spike turned back around to watch the TV. "Had to deal with a few of them in my heyday, not that I'm still not in it."

"Nasty little creepy-crawlies, crawling under my skin and messing with my insides and outsides," mumbled Drusilla, almost incoherently.

Spike gestured his thumb at Drusilla. "What she said."

A second British voice made its way into the Hyperion's lobby. "Aspirin. . . Water. . . Now. . ." 

"Hey, Princess Margaret woke from his nap-nap," Faith observed of Wesley's teetering entrance. 

Wesley's eyes adjusted to the dim light of the lobby. "Connor's still missing, I take it." Willow and Tara nodded in unison. "That's just bloody brilliant. Now they have all but the secret missing ingredient."

"I'd watch what you were saying, Giles, Jr.," the blonde vampire expressed from the couch. 

"What do you mean?" Spike's finger pointing at the TV answered Wesley's question. Rather, the news report on the TV answered his inquiry.

The man on the TV appeared flustered and baffled. ". . . Folks. . . I really don't know how to explain this. . . The only thing I can say is, 'Thank God the Angels are playing Kansas City in *Kansas*. . .'"

"Why?" the former Watcher asked. The blonde male held up one arm to silence him and the reporter on TV continued, almost on cue from the vampire.

"A strange red substance. . . Some sources say blood while others say strawberry Kool-Aid. . . has filled the entire stadium. . . Even stranger is the fact that the red substance, whatever it may be, has formed some kind of river leading out of the stadium and into the streets of Anaheim. Recent reports have been showing this mysterious river has come to a stop and formed. . . a moat. . ." The reporter still couldn't believe what he was reading. ". . . around Disneyland, which is still out of service due to yesterday's earthquake." The television switched to black at the remote's control. 

"My goodness. . ." Wesley drawled. It took several moments for his mind to digest this information and several more to realize the room was now filled with people who felt just as groggy and confused as he was.

"Baseball's a damn bloody sport," Spike wisecracked. Several people in the room groaned at his joke.

"What was that all about?" Fred asked. She had been the last to enter the room therefore getting the least amount of information from the man on TV.

"Whatever it is," Gunn interjected, "it doesn't sound good no matter how you look at it." 

"It's the blood spewing forth from the angel," Giles whispered, barely audible. 

"It's happening. . ." Wesley mumbled. His facial expression was that of shock and fear. 

Dawn looked around the room at the people who were staring either at their feet, their hands, or at each other. The saddest expression of all was Angel's. The former Scourge was solemnly gazing at the empty baby bassinet which once carried Connor. He was doing a nice impression of a statue that would break even with the slightest touch. No emotions really played his face, more of just a gaze which showed that all feeling from his vampiric body had been wiped away. Dawn felt really bad for him, but didn't know exactly *why* he looked so sad. 

"Does this baseball thing have anything to do with the baby's disappearance?" Dawn winced as she expected the elder vampire to break down. Fortunately, he didn't.

"Look here, kiddo," Lorne answered, sipping at his Seabreeze. "You know the domino theory? That one event affects another and so forth and so on?" Dawn nodded with slight understanding. "It's like that with this whole Sacred Demise thingamajig. When they get the virgin's blood, *bam*, the earthquake happens. When the earthquake happens and reveals where the Great Slimy is buried, the eye goes all glowy. And when the eye goes all glowy, they need the child. You see where I'm going with this, girly?" The younger Summers nodded another time. "And when they have the child. . ."

". . . The angel spews the blood," Lorne and Dawn said together.

"See, now you're getting it," the Host finished. 

"Is it me or was this Ch'Nalin guy a modernist?" Heads spun in Buffy's direction. "I mean, of all the sacred places to be buried, the guy gets buried in *Disneyland*. The glowing eye? The Indiana Jones ride. When it comes time for the blood to spew from the bowels, where does it come out? ANGEL stadium."

"Actually, the correct name is Edison Field," Gunn said matter-of-factly.

"Whatever. I just found that really strange."

Wesley stepped onto the main stairwell behind Faith, Willow and Tara and raised his arms high into the air to catch the attention of the group in the lobby. Unfortunately, not many of the crowd noticed and went about on their own miniature conversations about the matter at hand. The Britishman cleared his throat extra loudly but availed no progress. Another loud clearing got no more focus than the first one did. He knew he would have to resort to the big guns if he wanted to get anything done around here. At the top of his lungs, he shouted the first attention-grabbing word that came to mind.

Every eye in the lobby was directly fixated on the Watcher at the foyer. "Wesley! Where did you learn that word?!" 

The younger Britishman gave the Pylean demon a sour look. "Well. . . now that I have your attention. . ."

"Such language in front of the children," the green demon sarcastically admonished, placing his hands over Dawn's ears. 

Wesley clenched his teeth together and closed his eyes tightly. He was trying his hardest not burst into obscenities. . . more, that is.

"Thank you. . . Lorne." At this point, he didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or tear that demon's horns clean from his head. He decided on neither, for now. "It seems as though we have a new problem at hand."

"What? The fact that our hero is locked up in the looney bin? Yeah, I'd say that's a problem." 

Wesley was about to answer the question when he realized that the asking voice was Cordelia's and it wasn't talking in the same sing-song tone as Drusilla's. "Cordelia! You're back!"

"Live and in the flesh. And this time, it's my own."

"How long have you been back?" Angel inquired. By the tone in his voice, they could tell he was happy she was once again in her own skin.

"Oh, for about five minutes now. I just didn't want to make a big entrance. Too cliche."

Gunn snickered. "That's our Cordy. She could have visions that cover her face in boils, set her on fire, or even get possessed by century old lunatic vampiress and the girl can *still* keep her sense of humor."

"Don't forget the pregnancy," Angel added.

Confused and curious looks headed Cordelia's way. "Went on a bind date, became eight and a half months pregnant with some sort of demon child. Don't ask."

"So. . . What are we going to do now?" Willow asked, just to break the strange topic of conversation. "I mean, we know the Apocalypse is a sure thing. 

"They've got all they need," Tara interjected. 

"Right," Willow agreed. "Blood, baby, Disneyland itself and the fourth thing that caused the stadium to mysteriously fill up with 'red liquid.' Do any of you here have a master plan of stopping this thing?"

A familiar female voice answered the Wiccan's question. "Freeing Xander would help."

"Anya!" The Scoobies cried out. "What are you doing here?" Fred and Gunn stared at each other in confusion and shrugged.

The battle-ridden blonde put her hands to her hips. "Help. What does it look like I'm here for?"

"Help with what?" Buffy asked. "Isn't Xander out of the hospital?"

"Oh, he is."

"Then why do you need him freed?" 

Anya sighed irritably. It hadn't been a very good day, what with all the demons breaking into the Magic Box and the escaping from the hospital and breaking into of ambulances and the capturing of Xander by evil demons at Disneyland and the running away to L.A. for Buffy and Angel's help. No, it just wasn't a very good day at all for this former vengeance demon. 

As quickly as she could Anya retold the whole tale, from start to finish, Magic Box to the attack at Disneyland. 

"Bloody hell. . ." Giles mumbled once she was done. "Xander's been kidnapped."

"But it gets even better," Anya continued. "They have him locked up in Sleeping Beauty's tower, from what I hear. When time rolls around for the ceremony to take place, Xander will have a front row seat for the world's execution."

"At least he won't be lonely," Spike interjected. "He's got Dru to keep him company."

Wesley closed his eyes and sighed. "This tale just keeps getting stranger and stranger as the minutes go by." 

"At least we don't have the 'Xander stuck in a padded room' problem," Buffy noted.

"But now we have a 'Xander trapped in a fairy tale castle with a crazy vampire surrounded by terrifying demons' problem," Cordelia retorted. "Which, I think, is a whole lot bigger problem." The brunette looked at her boss who was giving her no look back. "This is where you'd say 'we need to work on a plan,' Jeeves."

Wesley snapped out of his thought trance. "Oh. . . yes. A plan. Right." Wesley looked nervously around the room. 

"Let me guess," Buffy said with a tone of sarcasm. "It's 'Happy Fun Planning Time'."

"Uh. . . Well. . . Yes." On cue, everyone, save Wesley, Giles and Fred, groaned. 

"Can't we do that tomorrow?" Gunn whined. "We're tired and hungry and I wanna go home."

"No offense, Gunn, but it's not like we have any choice," Wesley admonished. "The world's ending at midnight tomorrow night and time is of the utmost essence here."

"Wes has got a point," Fred said. "Besides, we all just took a big nap, didn't we?"

"Yeah. . ." Gunn knew he wasn't going to win this one.

"Then what do you have to complain about?" Fred picked up the heaviest book lying on the counter and threw it at him. Gunn caught it with an "oomph." 

"Oh, she's good," Buffy complimented. Before Buffy knew what was coming, she was hit in the chest with the second largest book. 

"You too," Fred admonished in a motherly fashion. "Just because you're the Slayer doesn't mean you can just sit around while the rest of us work."

The blonde Slayer looked down at the book cradled in her arms. "Very good."

"Let's all get to work now," Fred kindly suggested. When no one budged, her Texan wrath came into play. "Now!" 

Afraid for their very lives, and of the brewing Texan rage, everybody ran to the nearest book, piece of paper, or notebook. Fred, the only one not running around, crossed her arms and sighed. "Check me out. I'm 'Take Charge Fred.'"

"Go you," Lorne sarcastically cheered as he walked up to the girl, arms loaded with reams of paper. He dropped the paper in her arms. 

"'Let's all get to work now,'" the demon mocked as he turned his back and walked away, humming a bar of "Superstitious" as he walked away.

"Cocky green demon," the petite brunette mumbled. She rolled her eyes and sighed. "It's gonna be a long night."  
  
  
  



End file.
